Beneath Azure Skies
by Caradryan
Summary: From the ashes of the old war, a misty threat emerges. Light fades, and darkness surges. Though shadows and chaos shall once more be woken, radiance shall again be seen. Renewed shall be a rose that was once broken, finding true love alongside her queen.
1. Prologue: Bitter Rememberance

_Renewed shall be a rose that was once broken, finding true love alongside her queen..._

Long ago, a fellow bard of Crimea told me a story. At first glance, it was like any other - a narrative of wars and shifting alliances. It was a tale of good triumphing over evil, and a saga of a gathering darkness that threatened to engulf the land once more.

Yet, at the innermost core of the story, termed "Beneath the Skies of Crimea," there was something else. Something that cannot be stifled by darkness and human hatred, no matter how bleak the situation looked. Stripping the story to its barest basics, and it was clear. It was about love. The love between a knight and his queen, and of the same between a count and his childhood love.

It has been many, many years since I've last told this story - my memory, I'm afraid, is not what it once was. I will give you my finest effort - nothing more, nothing less.

So! Sit back, relax, and I shall begin my tale. Please, go right ahead and make yourself comfortable.

* * *

Author's notes (06/20/2009): Most likely, I'll have more to add and edit in this little blurb. Beneath Azure Skies is a long ongoing piece featuring the Crimean characters (which are, unfortunately, woefully underused). You could probably guess who's paired with who, though.

The story moves rather slowly, especially at the beginning, but the pace is quickly picking up. There are a ton of references everywhere - from Arthurian myths to Tolkien to even certain works of anime. Keep your eyes open if you're the type who enjoys delving deeply into a story!

P.S. Many thanks go to Yuurei and Misheard for critiquing the initial work, and Manna for proofreading. There are spoilers, as this story is post RD. The story touches on some heavy themes and elements that may not be suitable for the average 10 year old.

* * *

Even after all the time she spent there, the Crimean Palace was still a difficult place to navigate. Lucia sighed as she strode across the ancient building, her light footfalls echoing in the gilded hallway. A single lone flame guided her way as she pushed opened a pair of heavy oaken doors. Her soft white robe swished around her ankles as she peered into the faintly illuminated darkness.

Her destination, the "book room", was a favorite hangout of the scholars and mages at court. Hidden away in the north tower, the circular library was paved with black, mirror-like stones from Goldoa. Countless shelves arranged in neat patterns lined the room, their polished wood inviting all who passed to take a quick peek. All manners of subjects, from the arcane arts to more mundane topics such as botany can be found here. During daytime, the fourteen single-panel windows flooded the room with sunlight. In evenings, a thousand candles often lit the room as sages poured over dusty tomes. The royal library was austere and contemplative, its silence a boon for tired souls who went there to escape the chaos that is war.

But now, the room was dark, and completely silent. The hour was late, and no studious mage sat at the long reading tables. The dark recesses of the corners seem almost haunting as the swordmistress scanned through the shelves quickly, searching for a particular book.

_Ah, there it is._

Her gaze landed on a loosely bound text as she carefully fished it out from the tightly packed shelf. _Yvina, the Lady of the Lion _was Lucia's favorite epic poem. Despite her usual demeanor, the young woman underneath the cold mask was more emotional than many would think. She loved to read – especially tender stories or idyllic poetry. There was a certain enchanting quality found only in the chivalric romances, and no other type of fiction could lure her in like they did. On nights when she couldn't sleep, she would often retreat to private corners and engross herself in their world, where she could be immersed in fantasy and momentarily escape from the world.

The more studious mages of the Palace could often find her there early in the morning, dozing contently with a gentle smile on her face and a yet unfinished tale draped across her legs. She always felt a little wary and vulnerable about being discovered in such a state, but she couldn't really help it.

_Lucia. You should smile more!_ She could hear Calill's good-humored voice as she chastised her. The older woman often comes in earlier than the others to watch the sunrise. _You're really pretty when you do, you know? Stop being so serious; it'll help with your complexion. _

She was always the quiet one, saying little and sticking with only words that are necessary. Little did they know the burdens that she carried would be enough to forever erase joy from many other beings. The truth was, she wasn't sure if she knew how to be happy again. A little piece of her - the piece that was full of joy and hope had vanished forever, broken during the Crimean Civil War.

The chair creaked as she snuggled into her usual seat, its comfortable velvet cushions welcoming her familiar weight. The young woman began reading intently as she hid underneath a bundle of flimsy yet soft silk. Silence enveloped her; it was as if the entire world was asleep.

Tonight, she shall dream once more.

It was not until a few pages in that she noticed that there was something else on the table. Unlike the laguz, she had little night vision. Holding the candle above her head, Lucia noticed a small misplaced tome on the table.

_Ooh, some mageling's going to get a lecture from Bastian tomorrow_, she thought as she placed the candle back onto the table as she turned the page. Bastian, the Count of Fayre, was a particular stickler for keeping order in the library. A kind man at heart, he was nonetheless strict about things he cared about.

"_The books serve you, friends, like faithful hounds to their master. Forsooth! Have the good heart to return them to where they belong, for a good volume is a friend in need, able to keep ye company for many good hours, whether be wintry frost or blazing summer…"_

She smiled lightly at the mental image. Elegant, verbose, and talkative to a fault, the master tactician of Crimea could be quite merciless at times. Like a poet reciting poetry, he was nothing like her brother, who was often blunt to the point and stressed all the time. The two men were friends, yet they had radically different outlooks. Ironically, Bastian was the epitome of knightly behavior – or so he claimed. While it was true that he was honorable, chivalrous and acted every inch the proper cavalier, he was really annoying. Come to think of it, he was also extremely persistent – having pursued her romantically for the past…how many years now? She had lost count.

_I wish he'd just shut up for once and talk normally. _

Brushing aside a locke of stray aquamarine hair, Lucia put the poem aside. As much as she appreciated the attention, sometimes she wondered what exactly it was that he saw in her. Compared to the other ladies at court, she was a tomboy. Her "womanly curves" were almost nonexistent, as they were replaced by slim, well-toned muscles that were more appropriate on a cavalier than a woman. Surely a Count would have much better taste? She, like her brother, was blunt and to the point, often throwing aside veils and disguises in preference for the cold truth. She was nothing like the docilely pretty or mindlessly obedient wives of many of the other members of nobility.

Whether or not it was true that she was beautiful in her unique way, as a good friend often told her, she didn't care much. For one, she didn't exactly see herself as palpable for marriage. She might have been, once, but –

A painful memory flashed across her mind. A haunting, lightless existence.

Pushing the thought away, Lucia decided to distract herself by putting the book away. After all, she came here to put herself at ease, not to be haunted by her past. Holding her candle in her right hand, she picked the small leather-bound volume up and casually peered at the spine.

Nothing. No title, no author, the spine was blank. The cover, except for an elaborately designed buckle was also blank. It was as if the book shouldn't have existed in the royal collection in the first place. The pages of the book were yellow with age and appeared to be quite well-worn.

Puzzled, Lucia opened the cover. With a faint click, the buckle fell aside, revealing the contents underneath. The first page was completely blank except for one singular line, written in flowing calligraphy. Paying it no heed, the swordmistress smiled as she opened to a random page. Perhaps it was the aspiring works of some page, eager to become a skilled storyteller.

The same hand persisted throughout. A series of carefully placed and dated entries resembled a diary.

_May 12__th__. Cloudy, with a silver of sunlight peering out from behind the darkening skies. _

…_Such is my heart as once again, I was bluntly rejected by her once again. Below, dear journal, I present reason 3,291. _

"_Sorry, my lord, I've been sharpening my blade, and my hands are covered in grime."_

_This one is actually rather easy to refute, as I could not care less about what her hands were covered in. Her hands covered in grime? Were they covered in hellfire themselves, still I would take them in my hands! Her long, slender fingers, her beautiful nails, always taken care of and filed to just the perfect length. _

_Her ability with a sword…ah, dear journal, were you a living being to witness her might! Verily, a comet flashing across the skies! Her hair danced with her supple yet comely body in the winds…_

Lucia snorted. Such tripe. She flipped the page.

_September 24__th__. The golden sun smiles at us from the tall heavens; her rays penetrate the deepest of nights._

_She's busy today, apparently. Did not see her at all today. Alas, her aloofness is much another sonnet dedicated to her during spare time today. Hope she is doing well – and hoping beyond hopes that she, during offtimes of her duties or training may be thinking of me. There is still yet hope, and…_

The rest of the entries were similarly written. The entire diary seemed to be devoted to one, single person as the lovestruck man rambled on and on about her. Yawning, Lucia closed the covers and gently buckled it again as she picked up her candle, her sleeping robe dropping back to her sides.

Lucia thought as she reopened _Yvina_, sifting through the book as she tried to find her page. _If I didn't know better, I swear he sounds like…_

She froze. Wait a minute. Something about the woman being described sounded suspiciously familiar. Too familiar, in fact.

_Slim, sword-user. Aloof. Constantly rejecting his advances, who is in service of the Queen…_

The hind legs of the chair slammed onto the ground as Lucia leapt out and sprinted back to the spot. The leatherbound volume sat on the table innocently; its skin seemed to wink in the candlelight as she opened it again with slightly trembling hands.

_October 9__th__. No time for pleasantries. _

_I can only hope she is safe…no, what am I saying, she is not safe! She …oh, dear journal, be my muse and counsel in the hour of darkness. I cannot bear the thought of her gone. The beauteous and pure Lucia, captured in the service of her beloved Elincia, true Queen of Crimea! Alas, doth I rue the day! I have known that the traitor Ludveck was planning, but alas, alas!_

Her heart raced.

_Yet I, being faraway here cannot even lift a finger to protect her. As a man, I am a failure. As a lover, I have dishonored the name of chivalry itself because I, despite all my promises and words, have failed to protect her…_

She winced at the painful words Bastian used to describe himself. Apparently, the Count was quite stressed – a facet of him that never appeared in public. A complex emotion swelled up inside of her as she read on. The self-condemnation spanned several more pages before an abrupt change seemed to have occurred. In neat, blocky calligraphy, Bastian had penned these words.

**The miserable have naught save hope. True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings. **

Nodding a little to herself, she turned the page.

… _My only hope lies in Sir Ike, the marvelous hero who has agreed to watch her from afar, and pray to Ashera who listeneth to her faithful that they succeed in their endeavor. If Sir Ike doth succeed, I hereby swear to donate a large sum to her temple in Melior…_

So it was…that's how…Bastian never told her this…how it actually…she had thought! No, this was-

… _I shall not worry myself, nor pace about futilely in my current locale. But yet, O, life, why go on without her? She is altogether lovely and wondrous. To me, she is worth more than all the treasures of Tellius itself! Her sweet eyes doth tell of her unquenchable spirit, speaking of a purity that can only be matched by the queen herself. She speaks no lies, tells the truth always, and ah, dear journal, I cannot stress enough about how much of a boon she is when there is naught light on the side…_

The more of his diary Lucia read, the more her heart fluttered. All that time…

_All that time, he had felt …like this? He really did feel this way?_ She had thought he was only acting. But no, it was no act. Why would a count be interested in a simple bodyguard, otherwise? Sure, they grew up together, but that was …

And yet, every bit she read shook Lucia to the core. Bastian, being the meticulous record keeper he was, always managed to sneak in something about her. It didn't matter what they were – even her slightest comments or ideas were mentioned. Not a single day passed where she wasn't in his own thoughts in some way, and when they were apart, he wrote little snippets of new praise, or kind words, or things designed to cheer her up or make her smile. It was only now that she began to understand the extent of his feelings for her.

_And how painful must it have been…to be rejected time after time? _

Yet, the writings themselves showed no signs of him growing tired of her. Rather, the flowing praises continued and only grew in subtlety and complexity. He had noticed so many small details, positive ones that she didn't even know she had. Even the smallest bit of attention she paid him…a casual smile or word of concern brightened his day considerably. Reading them brought genuine smiles to her lips, and occasionally flushed cheeks as she mused. She was especially intrigued by the constant reference to her purity, and how she was like a little angel, with a smile as radiant as the dawn.

How curious, that Bastian would think of her as a pure little angel, a –

Like a bolt of thunder, a particular scene flashed again in her mind. The chains, the damp prison cell; lecherous faces, the –

Lucia slumped to her knees, overwhelmed by her own emotions. _He…he didn't quite know. And …Aah…the…_

"My lady Lucia, wouldst the spring be as fair as thee, a white flower amidst the darkened earth!"

With a clatter, the diary fell to the floor as Lucia spun around like a startled doe. Dressed in a simple black sleeping gown, with a ridiculously floppy sleeping cap, the Count of Fayre stood behind her. His genial smile only made her feel worse about herself as he carefully picked up the diary and dusted it off.

" Ah, my angel, it is most unfortunate that you had to busy yourself with my petty works. 'Tis of no importance, really. What is worthy of thy attention are the sonnets and lines your most humble Bastian has composed in your lovely name…"

"No, I…"

Bastian's smile quickly dropped from his face as Lucia struggled to her feet, her eyes brimming with tears. She had misunderstood him for too long. She needed time to think, time to rethink, and also, she needed … she needed something to …cleanse her, of the …

The images return. She was once again back in that tiny cell, where they tried to break her. She tried to resist, but the fear persisted. It seemed to engulf her, taking her in its gaping jaws. A desolate darkness. A lightless, damp dungeon. Heavy iron chains. Agony filled her body; pain lanced into her core. She heard her own haggard gasping as her defilers returned to torment her, repeating their vile deeds again and again until she could no longer remember daylight, nor did time pass for her anymore. She only wanted it to stop.

Closing her eyes, the swordmistress shook involuntarily. It was one of the rare times where she felt so…helpless and afraid. And now, faced with the man who had loved her for so long, she was wordless. She wanted to reciprocate, she wanted to tell him that she, after all this time, did appreciate – no, does appreciate; but she couldn't…She wasn't …She…she couldn't…no, she… she had to…she couldn't stand the thought of lying – he has always been nothing but faithful to her, she –

Most importantly, she couldn't bear to hurt him. Not after all this time…and the truth would. _The truth would._

"Heavens, my dear Lucia! What heavy thing, what dark worry, is on your mind? Pray, and do tell -"

He was looking at her with a rather shocked expression on his face. For once in her life, Lucia was glad that Bastian could not intuitively guess at what she was thinking.

"I…I am no longer the angel you think I am," she whispered as she drew her robe around her. A long moment passed as she seemed to struggle with something, tears freely falling down her shapely face.

"Please, Bastian… I…Forget about me."

Then, turning with a small cry, she fled the room. The sounds of her footfalls quickly disappeared as a bewildered Bastian was left standing alone in the midnight air.


	2. Part I: The Calm

* * *

Lucia ran.

With no real destination in mind, she simply tried to get away from Bastian. Her white robe danced about her ankles wildly as the swordmistress sprinted down the hallway.

She didn't care where she was running to – she felt like she could die, for all that mattered. She just needed an escape. She couldn't bear the thought of him looking at her. She felt so ...unclean. She was tainted.

At last, when her strength faltered, Lucia collapsed in a small heap. Breathing heavily, she placed a slightly trembling hand against her chest as she wiped her eyes. _Crying is tasteless_, she told herself. _Get a hold of yourself._

Yet, the pain of a ravished soul cannot be pent up forever. Her frantic attempts to stop herself from expressing a natural emotional response only hurt her more and more. A small hiccup escaped her throat as Lucia bit down on her thumb, trying her best to cope with her resurfaced emotions. It didn't dohe t any good. Tears streamed down her face as the memories she had suppressed for so long swarmed back into her mind, temporarily overwhelming her psyche and breaking her will.

She was back in that cell again, inside Ludveck's dungeons. For three weeks, she was abused in every conceivable way, all in the name of bringing about a "New Crimea". Ludveck led most of the "sessions" personally, ensuring that no quarter was given.

…She would prefer not to dwell on the rest of that.

The existence of that part of her life was something that she would rather not acknowledge. Yet she accepted it for what it was, and tried to move on. She had no regrets; even if it meant suffering through one of the most traumatic experiences that could possibly happen to any human being. Whatever she did, it was out of love for her friends and the kingdom itself.

The sacrifices she made…the pain she had endured…no one would ever need to know. And no one would know. She would rather be hurt herself than to hurt the ones she loved.

She wept.

* * *

Mornings in the Palace of Crimea were always hectic. Though official business didn't usually start until well after sunrise, many pages and servants could be found scurrying away much, much earlier. Breakfast needed to be prepared; mail needed to be checked; Haar's wyverns needed to be fed, and cleaning – there was always more cleaning to be done.

Clad in a simple light pink dress, Marcia yawned as she tiptoed into the garden. She wanted a break, and the sunrise was just what she needed to get her spirits back into shape.

As usual, the source of her annoyance was her good-for-nothing brother. After Makalov had racked up another 30,000 gold in debt through gambling, he was almost discharged from the Crimean Royal Knights. It was only due to Geoffrey's direct intervention that he managed to avoid the jailhouse.

Strangely enough, after a certain run-in with that lady…what was her name again, Calill? Makalov had stopped going to the taverns altogether and literally started living on what seemed to be books instead. He hadn't left his room in a long, long while – three days, in fact. She could only wonder what he was doing.

_Yeah, right. If he's actually trying to be productive, then I'm a toaster. _Marcia snorted as an amusing mental image of her brother actually being studious popped into her head. _Still, at the very least, he's still eating, judging from the number of empty plates Astrid found on the windowsill. _

Breathing deeply, Marcia smiled as she felt the morning mist on her face. The garden was so peaceful and serene during this time of day – the sun wasn't quite up yet, but the darkness was definitely gone. She loved the grayish, barely warm skies – it made her feel so calm, so at ease…

It was then she noticed a familiar azure-haired figure curled up on the damp ground. Lucia's face was wet. A red flush still lingered on her cheeks as she breathed deeply, her eyes closed tightly as she combated some nightmare that only she alone could see. Her hair and garments were damp with the morning dew as she shivered uncontrollably, the scant night-robe inadequate to keep the chills away.

"Lucia?" Marcia called out, unsure of what was going on. _She must have stayed out …here…for the entire night. _

She didn't answer. Concerned, Marcia walked over to her side.

"Hey there…you alright?"

She gently shook the unconscious young woman. The swordmistress' skin was cold and clammy to the touch.

"…I'm fine." Lucia's eyes fluttered open as she mumbled a reply. There was something faintly feverish about her gaze as she drew her robes in closer. "…I guess I fell asleep here while watching the stars."

It was a poor lie, and Marcia saw right through it. Lucia hated astronomy – partly due to her inability to grasp some of the more fundamental aspects of physics, and partly due to Count Bastian's constant ramble on how her beauty matched the stars in heaven. The sage's silver tongue was enough to charm the birds out of their nests – she was actually sort of surprised that Lucia seemed to be completely oblivious to it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a fit of harsh coughs as Lucia shook.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing…"

Another lie; Lucia never lost her composure. Yet there was clearly a tremor in her voice.

"Huh, well, you don't look fine to me," Marcia commented, offering a hand to her friend as she pulled the swordmistress to her feet. Maybe she would ask her about what had happened later.

"Come on, let's go inside and get you something warm. You don't look too good, and if Elincia saw you, she'd think you caught pneumonia or something…"

* * *

Lucia coughed again as she leaned on Marcia, thankful for some support. Come to think of it, she did feel a little off-color.

Last night…she discovered something she had never thought existed. She remembered too much, and yet, she had words for too little. How was she going to … explain? How was she going to tell him? For that matter, now that she knew he was being serious for all that time…how was she going to reciprocate? Could she even reciprocate? Could she love him? Did she love him?

She didn't know. She didn't know how she could answer those questions, not without a lot of soul-searching first. Even then, she couldn't find all the answers herself – she needed advice.

As for the matters of love…well, that, she didn't dare to ask….

A year ago, she could have gone to her father for help, but her father was…

Numbly, the swordmistress followed the pegasus knight as the two walked, their footsteps echoing lightly in the corridors of the royal palace.

"…You could have caught a cold! We can get one of the healers to look at you, too…who knows? It could be serious! You know how the weather around here is, we've got everything from snow melting in January to snow in April, and – oh, that reminds me. There was this one time, where Malakov got sick, Astrid made this really sweet tea for him, it smelled really nice and …"

A kindly old general and veteran of many wars, the Count of Delbray had always been in good health; yet suddenly, towards the end of the Crimean Civil War, his health suddenly deteriorated. Soon, her father left the world – without even letting her see him one last time. Both of the siblings took the loss hard.

"…so then, we met General Ike…did I ever tell you about that one time, where Lethe was sick? He made her soup! Not very good soup, mind you – General Ike couldn't cook to save his life, and the thing resembled a potato stew more than anything else, but still! Didn't you think it was cute? I wish someone would do that for me…"

Other than her father, the only people in the world that she felt close enough to divulge her feelings to would be her brother or milk-sister. She didn't have the heart to trouble either one of them. Elincia had enough work as it was – after all, she _was_ the queen, and Geoffrey needed to concentrate on training his knights instead of comforting his sister. The war took its toll on the military strength of Crimea, and it would be some time before the general could build it back up to its former glory. There were so many things for them – all of them to take care of. Compared to Crimea, her burdens were mere afterthoughts.

She was alone, then. Alone in this endeavor…

"…Hey, are you still listening?"

"Mm," she replied, sensing that if she had remained silent any longer, Marcia would have "ensured" that she was fine by forcefully dragging her to the infirmary.

"Really? What was the last thing I said?"

"Something about magical wyverns, catnip and the difference between pre-smoked and live-smoked bacon," Lucia muttered. At any rate, her prodigal memory was handy for something else.

"Wow, you did pay attention after all. And the only reason why I brought up the bacon thing was….Well, you see, bacon really taste differently if you cook it in this particular way…"

_And here we go again._ Lucia placed her face in her palm as Marcia continued to drone away. Sometimes she wondered if there was method to her madness.

"Marcia, you know what?"

"What?"

" I think I'm going to skip breakfast. If you see Geoffrey, tell him I'll be late for the morning training session."

The pegasus knight instantly froze mid-stride as she turned around, her face full of worry.

"…You're not REALLY sick, are you? Fishsticks, I was joking about the pneumonia thing…"

"No, I'm not," Lucia smiled, her heart warmed by the sight of genuine concern. No matter how random Marcia was at times, she found her odd way of ranting off-topic to be strangely endearing.

"I mean, if you ARE sick, then you shouldn't be running about. I know! I'll get Lady Calill to take a look at you…You head back to your room, right now! I'll go get her."

"No, Marcia, really. I just need some rest, that's all…"

"Um, how about the Queen? Or maybe Count Bastian! He would know how to cheer you up!"

The look on Lucia's face made Marcia take a step back.

"NO. NO BASTIAN."

* * *

After changing out of her wet robes, Lucia poked at the fireplace as she gingerly stepped into the bath. Every inch of her body felt cold, and she knew that trying to sleep the stiffness off probably wouldn't help much.

Slowly easing herself into the warm water, Lucia sighed with pleasure. The water felt so good. Seldom was she willing to take the luxury of a full bath; usually, a quick shower was enough for hygienic reasons. Stretching like a cat, she allowed the heat to spread through her lithe form, warming her from within.

Even in this relaxed state, however, her thoughts still wandered. Like her brother and the count, Crimea's safety was almost always the first thing on her mind. After the civil war almost tore her homeland apart, life in Crimea seemed to have improved considerably. Elincia's nobles no longer complained on a daily basis, and support for the queen among the populace was strong. From art to commerce, everything was flourishing. The relations with the Laguz, while still uneasy, were slowly improving. As for her personal spy network, nothing unusual was on the horizon. A rumor or two, at the most, and there were no concrete threats.

_Lighten up,_ a small voice inside her head whispered to her. _The war's over. Crimea's safe. Stop being so tense and relax. Go out and do what you've always wanted, and stop worrying about things in the past or things that will never happen for once! Enjoy yourself! Seize the day! Take back love!_

Love.

What was love? Furthermore, what was love to her? Silently chiding herself, Lucia tried to shake the thought out of her head. Its coquettish tone reminded her of Calill.

Since the end of the Crimean Civil War, Calill and Largo returned to their tavern-business. Conveniently located near the palace, it quickly became a favorite spot for many Crimean knights and retainers. She herself visits the location frequently, and had become fast friends with the couple and their daughter, Amy.

Citing her "tasteful figure" as an idealized model for beauty or some other nonsense, the sensual magician often dragged her away on "quests" to further bolster her wardrobe. Lucia didn't mind the trips too much, though her personal theory was that she just wanted someone to carry all the rubbish that they wound up buying, and the sage loved Largo a bit too much to force the one-armed berserker to go out with her. Calill, though overly concerned with her looks, was not quite the snide ditz that her first impression gave. Though her sense of fashion was questionable (borderlining the indecent, in her humble opinion), Calill's intuitive ability to grasp people's feelings made her a valuable confidant and a good friend.

On more than one occasion, Calill had commented that she seemed distant.

"_You don't smile like you used to. Then again, you never smiled much in the first place..."  
_

"_There is no reason for me to smile," she would reply. _

"_Oh, stop that. A smile makes life more beautiful…" _

_And so on. They would banter back and forth, but Calill would never get her to divulge her reasoning. Just as well. The sage understood her need for privacy and would always leave her alone when she needed._

Lucia sighed again as she slinked deeper into the water. Perhaps, after all this time, she'd have some time for herself. She wouldn't mind finishing off a few …personal projects, and it must be nice to not live in constant worry for the future. She couldn't stop thinking about the possibilities of another invasion by another scheming noble, though. And worse, she couldn't get over the topic of love.

_Love,_ murmured that same voice in her head_, is the one thing you desperately want, yet it's the one thing you're afraid of. Embrace it. You'll never grow up until you do. _

It was true. And as much as she hated to admit it, she was afraid of the unknown. She was afraid of falling in love, and also afraid of receiving it. Yet, it was only a natural response for her to desire it. In this, she was inexperienced.

Neither Elincia nor Geoffrey knew much about love either, come to think of it. She knew that her milk-sister had a soft spot for Ike, and multiple occasions she had caught Elincia staring at Ike with a little more than admiration on her face. She herself thought it was only sensible – to be honest, the commander of the Greil Mercenaries was not bad on the eyes at all. It was only now that she realized that there may have been a little more to her glances. She wasn't sure if talking with Elincia would help, so she swatted that thought away.

Either way, Ike disappeared after the events of the last war, and no word was heard from him since. She was pretty sure Elincia missed him greatly, and well…

This point was always a sore topic to bring up with her brother, who huffed and became stony-faced as soon as the subject was brought up even in casual conversation. She couldn't blame him. Geoffrey was too loyal and too professional for his own good. In a sense, they were the same – both burningly passionate individuals, buried beneath a mask of chivalry and formality.

From her own observations, Geoffrey was even more helpless than she would be, were they in similar situations. Since last year, Geoffrey had had a one-sided crush on Elincia. These days, it was getting worse. Before, he would simply flush and stammer and look away awkwardly. Now, he lost coherence as soon as Elincia smiles at him. It was funny, in a pitiful kind of way.

How curious, that, despite the fact that they'd grown up together, how friendship quickly blossomed into something else entirely.

Bastian, on the other hand…she had always thought he was a flirt; a regular cavalier when it came to the field of love. Yet, after going through his diary last night…

She simply couldn't believe that he had dedicated his heart to her, for all this time. She alone occupied his thoughts for what, six years?

She had too many questions; too many things she wanted to ask him directly, but she didn't feel comfortable enough asking those things yet. Their relationship, for the longest time, had been almost entirely professional. She appreciated his work for Crimea, and was secretly flattered by the attention he had given her. However, she always saw it as a joke, and she had thought…that he treated it the same way.

Knock, knock.

Ignoring the tapping on her door, Lucia sank into the water, unwilling to leave its warm embrace.

Tap, tap. The knock persisted.

_It's probably Marcia_, she thought to herself. _Maybe if I don't make any sounds, she'll think I'm asleep or something…_

Tap tap, tap tap tap.

With a disgruntled scowl, the swordmistress reached for a nearby towel as she stepped out of the small pool. _I guess I'll have to soak later._

"I'll be with you in a second," she called out to whoever was behind the door. Hastily wrapping the towel around her, she opened the door…

…to see a very surprised Bastian, with a gigantic tray in his hands.

* * *

Bastian was so pre-occupied with keeping the heavy tray in balance, that for a second, he didn't notice the door silently squeaking open.

An audible gasp was all he heard as his attention was immediately drawn to a pair of shapely bare legs. The exquisite sight sent a pleasing shock down his spine as the sage stared with a blank look on his face, taking in every inch of her firm thighs…

_Stop. How dare you disgrace her with such vulgar stares? _A small voice - his chivalrous conscience -screamed at him from the inside of his head.

As if snapping out of a mid-day dream, Bastian turned beet-red as he immediately looked away. He really hadn't meant to do that – the sage had arrived with every good intention possible. He was here to make up for whatever he said that drove her to such emotional stress. He also wanted to see if he could take the time to explain the diary and its contents to her – he didn't think she understood the concept of "Courtly Love" very well. And well, how was he supposed to know that she was in…um…such a state of undress?

Judging from the flustered look on her face, Lucia was no less embarrassed. Taking a small step back, she clasped the edges of her towel tightly as she hid behind the oaken door. A moment passed before their eyes met.

"Ah, um… Lady Lucia! I…" Trying to not sound too overly strained, Bastian inclined his head. "I see you are busy. Would you be so kind as to allow me temporary entrance to your delightful quarters? I promise I shall not take up too much of your valuable time."

She nodded wordlessly. Her wet shoulder-length hair clung to the back of her neck as she opened the door a crack wider, allowing him entrance.

Compared to the extravagance of the other chambers in the Palace Melior, Lucia's chamber was sparsely decorated. Other than her bed and a neatly arranged line of dressers, the spacious room was almost empty. The only decorations found on her wall were a pair of tapestries – presumably of some legend that he hadn't the opportunity to read. A reading desk, its surface still littered with books, and a pair of chairs greeted him as he peered around, looking for somewhere to set the tray down.

"Here," she murmured, directing to his gaze to a small table by the windowsill. With great care, Bastian put down the tray.

"I must apologize for my most rude intrusion! I have only thought to deliver a little early meal, as a kind little pegasus Knight told me that my lady is not faring well this morn." The count, anxiously declaring his intentions, bowed respectfully as he started to backpedal out of the room.

"I appreciate the thoughts," Lucia answered as she retreated behind a curtain, her face still red as she struggled to get into some real clothes. "In case you were wondering, I am fine – last night, I …"

Her voice trailed off as she shook a little and lapsed into silence. He was about to bring the topic up, too – he was genuinely concerned about her mysterious words_._ The fact that she was discomforted hurt him immensely, and he desperately wanted to help her. One look at Lucia's downcast eyes, though, was all it took to convince him that perhaps now was not the best time.

That, and his heart was beating so loudly that he was sure that a heart attack of some sort was imminent. He was surprised that he hasn't popped a vein yet.

"Nay, my lady, you are not yet dressed! Please, excuse my intrusion once again. This savage brute knew no better, and he now begs his leave!"

"No, Bastian, wait, I –"

"Enjoy your breakfast!"

The door closed with a polite crack as Bastian's heavy footfalls can be heard disappearing into the distance.

Lucia sighed as she shook her head and finished changing into her usual training clothes. Bastian certainly didn't hide his feelings very well this time– she could have sworn that Geoffrey would have fared better under similar situations. Early on in the morning, she was pretty sure that she didn't want to see him. At least, not until she could screw up the courage to reach a conclusion on her own. Though that opinion has not changed, for a fleeting moment, she wished he would have stayed and chatted with her.

Truth be told, she was both flattered and embarrassed by the whole affair. The thought that Bastian always tried to look out for her made her feel warm and bubbly inside, and the fact that he found her to be_ that _attractive brought a smile to her face as she moved over to the breakfast tray the Count of Fayre had brought.

It seemed that Bastian had thought of everything. The tray was laden with all kinds of food. Smoked sausage and lightly grilled salmon sat beside poached eggs nested between a pair of Crimean scones; seasonal greens and artfully arranged pieces of grapefruit lined her plate as the tray was counterbalanced by a pitcher of apple juice and a hefty bowl of rice congee.

Lucia poured herself a cup of juice. She wasn't particularly fond of apple, but she couldn't blame him for not knowing.

_I wonder what he's up to now,_ the swordmistress mused. _Probably furiously scribbling away in his diary or something. _

The particular mental image brought another smile to her face as she began her belated breakfast.

* * *

Back in his own room, Bastian's hands trembled as he immediately pulled out his diary.

_You lustful savage!_ His conscience screamed at him. _That is not gentlemanly conduct. You should go apologize to Lady Lucia at your earliest convenience! Did you see how much she was blushing when you laid those perverse eyes on her legs?_

Bastian closed his eyes and sighed. While yes, it was entirely unchivalrous of him to stare, he had excuses. Firstly, he didn't know she was in the bath. Secondly, it wasn't his fault that she was so beautiful. Thirdly, he just wanted to bring her some breakfast – Lucia's schedule was extremely rigorous and he couldn't imagine the swordmistress training on an empty stomach.

And besides, it wasn't like he had seen her naked or anything – just a bit out of her usual dress. And he _was _going to go apologize later, so that was still appropriate conduct.

The sage pulled out a new quill. Soon, the quiet scratches of writing could be heard in the room.

* * *

Author's notes: This chapter couldn't have been done without the aid of Mini and Arbella Scott as I cannot really ask for better proofreaders or BETAers than those two. And of course, Yuurei's brilliant eye for romantic plots helped to solidify the direction in which this fic'll go into. From the writer who is currently still delirious with fever: thank you; thank you so much. n_n

06/20/09: Made a ton of corrections thanks to Kitten Kisses catching stuff. 3

these chapters are a lot smaller than my usual ones, and the two prologues might actually be merged.. With the way it's going though, the fic's rating might go up, especially because of certain...implications. As much as it pains me to write her this way, I believe it's a legitimate interpretation that will only add to the realism and intensity of the story in the long run. If you catch something though, please let me know. I'm more than willing to fix things.


	3. Part II: The Gathering Storm

* * *

Dusk.

The setting sun's bloody edges faintly clung to the back of one lone figure. The man walked silently towards his destination, sand crunching beneath his heels.

Tall, lean, and agilely built, the man had a hawkish appearance. His black eyes darted about as he habitually inspected his surroundings. A pair of well-honed stilettos sat serenely on his belt, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. Years of experience as a professional killer had taught him to never let down his guard, no matter how peaceful the land may seem. Something – or someone - is always out there to kill.

No enemies met him. No hidden blades hid behind the foliage. The only sound that appeared was the quiet murmur of the sea as waves dashed against the shore, relentless in their movements. Above him, a lone seagull cried, its shrill note merging perfectly with the cacophony that only the ocean can bring.

Nodding in satisfaction, the assassin turned onto a small and rarely travelled path. Moving with no particular urgency, he merely admired the jagged outcroppings as he climbed along. Their austere beauty fascinated him – their dagger-like peaks possessed a simple yet profound craftsmanship that no living artist could match. The relaxing atmosphere was a welcoming break in comparison to his harrowing life.

He was the finest assassin Tellius had seen in ages. The fireman, they called him. A master of a centuries old assassination technique; he was infamous for his abilities and revered by his exploits. All who dealt in the shadows feared him.

_Perhaps_, the assassin mused, _that was why she followed me in the first place. _

He nimbly sidestepped onto an unstable-looking rock as a small clearing greeted him, its existence a visual cue only to him. With a simple acrobatic movement, Volke launched himself into the air, landing some distance above as he vaulted onto a hidden plateau above, nestled among the peaks.

The barren plateau was the size of a small chamber. Its surface was strangely smooth, with all sides but one exposed to the seas below. Volke's lip curved slightly. Everything was as he left it, undisturbed by human hands. That was good. The assassin walked over to the only object sitting on top of the ledge.

It was a petite headstone with its base plunged deeply into the rocks. Kneeling before it, Volke absentmindedly traced the writing with a single finger as he unbuckled the heavy pouch slung by his side. The inscription on the white Begnionia had all but faded under the constant attention of the elements, but to him, it shone with a brighter radiance than all the high-class gems and gold that spilled onto the ground.

_I have returned, my friend. My apologies for being late. _

The assassin sat for a moment, lingering in some unknown, deeply personal memories. Even in private, his expression was inscrutable. A glint from the corner of his eyes was all that spoke of what may have happened in the long-distant past.

_Forgive me. _

With a single gesture, he grabbed a fistful of coins and flung them into the ocean below.

* * *

At Palace Melior, life continued as usual. Within a few months of the end of the war that almost tore the world apart, scars had started to heal.

For Lucia, the next few days went by with relative uneventfulness. It was a good time to be at court. There was neither intrigue nor spontaneous declarations of family feuds – everyone was too busy patching the kingdom back into one piece.

Lucia brushed aside a lock of stray hair as she added a few more stitches to the handkerchief she'd been working on. Despite her tomboyish tendencies, she had a few soft spots that were decidedly out of character for the swordmistress of Crimea. Embroidery was one such hobby. Though it was time-consuming, she was nonetheless immensely satisfied by her creations – especially if she could share them with her friends.

Her thoughts were interrupted as a blue haired young man poked his head in her room.

"Sister." Geoffrey's tone remained as serious as ever even as a smile appeared on his face. "Are you busy at the moment?"

"Geoffrey? Come on in." Lucia answered, hurriedly tucking away her handiwork in a corner. "I was, but no longer. What do you need?"

The knight politely bowed and stamped a few times as he stepped into the doorframe, an unsealed scroll in his gauntleted hand.

"What, any reason for this sudden showing of formality to your sister?" Raising an eyebrow, Lucia teased. "You seem flustered. Did the Queen smile at you today?"

"No, but Daein sent us greetings, and the Queen and I thought you would have liked to see this." Lightly tossing the scroll to his sister, the knight sat on a nearby chair who groaned underneath the combined weight of the knight and armor. "I shall wait until you are done."

Opening the scroll, Lucia inspected its content with curiosity.

"_Dear Queen Elincia._

_I am writing, on behalf of the kingdom of Daein, to express our great joy and concern at Crimea's recovery and intend to rely upon diplomatic assurances for the mutual benefit of our respective nations. Though our two lands have been at war in the past, Daein would like to begin erasing those unpleasant memories by respectfully requesting diplomatic presence at the Crimean court. _

_Representatives of the kingdom of Daein have a laudable track record of expressing criticism and concern at reliance by other states on diplomatic assurances to effective communications and negotiations. Rest assured, should disagreements arise, our principled expression of caution shall work to the mutual benefit of both. _

_Recall back in year 112, when first contact was made…"_

And so, the rest of the letter droned on. The missive was written with a slanting, cursive hand, yet the grace behind the form hinted at something else – a dusty, grim ...something. A large royal wax seal belonging to Daein lie broken on the surface on the envelope, presumably opened by Geoffrey. A long silence passed before she spoke.

"So, Daein wants someone here at Melior… for what reason?"

The letter's tone was polite, curt, and to the point, exactly the way that a diplomatic missive should be written, yet she couldn't help but to feel uneasy.

"This is why I brought it here. Queen Elincia is calling a meeting with the nobles tonight for this reason. Lucia, do you think they have good intentions?"

In a situation like this, she could neither say yes nor no. Naturally, the story seemed to be suspicious. Diplomats come and go, of course, but to establish a permanent member at Melior…something wasn't right about that picture.

At the same time, Daein was not the Daein that devastated Crimea three, no, four years ago. Micaiah, the Priestess of the Dawn, was their ruler now – and the Silver-Haired Maiden was known across the land as a kind and benevolent queen. Surely, she couldn't…

No, she could not. She had kept careful tabs on the new Queen of Daein – even talked to the girl on several occasions. There was no way Micaiah could wish harm upon anyone, much less an entire country. At this point, Lucia was sure of that.

Such a dilemma. Lucia sighed as she pulled at a strand of hair, her heart racing with a little eagerness. She had a love-hate relationship with her position as the captain of the Palace Guard. She loved the fact that for every moment she worked, she kept Crimea - and her queen - safe from hidden threats. Yet, at the same time, she hated being tense and guarded all the time. She didn't mind the work or the dangers that came with her position, but she hated projecting the masquerade that she had to use so many times in order to obtain critical information.

_For the sake of everyone…I can't be myself anymore. _

It was true. For that matter, she didn't know if she could be herself again. What innocence she had was shattered in the last war. She became a little more introverted, a little more prone to self-inspection and blame…

"…Sister?" Geoffrey queried, noting that his sister had been silent for all this time.

"I do not know, Geoffrey," the swordmistress mused as she stood. "I only hope nothing ill will happen because of it."

Geoffrey nodded.

"Either way, we should get back to our respective duties. I shall go talk to Queen Elincia later tonight after that meeting to see if the royal knights need to be put on full alert."

"Sounds good. I will let you know if anything happen on my side. Godspeed."

The knight stood up, taking a step toward the door. Suddenly, he turned around.

" Sister, please, do not hesitate to speak to me about…" Pausing for a moment, the knight breathed deeply before slowly continuing, a hint of worry creeping into his voice."…Anything. If anything at all concerns you, or weighs heavily on your mind, please let me know. I am here for you, as is Queen Elincia, and Count Bastian.

If anything happen, please, let us help you…"

"Understood." Lucia smiled. It was unusual for her younger brother to use such words. He was never good at expressing himself, but the emotional outburst was heartwarming, to say the very least.

Geoffrey nodded again and closed the door behind him. Hearing his footsteps fade, Lucia gave a deep sigh. If only did he know…

If only.

* * *

"Bwaha! If isn't Bastian! The usual?"

The giant yelled at him from the counter. Bastian grinned as he slid into his seat at the Calill. The bar was still packed despite it being Wednesday evening. For some strange reason, Largo was wearing a winged band around his head.

"If you would, good sir Largo."

Bastian was a frequenter of Largo and Calill's tavern – though the triple-floored inn was more like a restaurant with rooming. The dimly lit bar and main floor had flickering candles that were enchanted by a certain mistress of fire magic. It gave the tavern a personal, romantic feel, perfect for couples or lone strangers. On the other hand, the many dimly lit corners and tables were supplanted by a warm heath fire in the center, where those seeking more lively company could participate. Bards and musicians frequented the place, and wherever they went, entertainment followed. From story-telling around the heath fire to epic songs of valor, each night had something different. No wonder the inn was packed every day.

"How would ya like your drink tonight? Chilled or hot?"

"Chilled, if you would please! And make sure it's –"

"Yeah, I got it. Stirred, not shaken." Largo yelled back again as he grabbed a bottle from the bottom of the shelf. "Honestly, you were right for all this time."

The sage sighed in relief. Unlike most of the nobles in court, he preferred his wine stirred. Shaking bruises the drink, giving otherwise sweetened wine a sour or bitter aftertaste. Besides, stirring chips the ice...

"We're outta mint though. Will lemon do? Sorry about that."

"It is fine, friend Largo. You know I am only happy to take whatever you offer!"

It was true. He loved the place. The couple loved their business with an unrivaled passion. They were also great at coming up with gimmicky tricks. Last winter, in order to celebrate Winterseve, Largo and his lovely wife came up with the bright idea of serving stew and fondues over open fire - literally. It was a simple combination of a fire and light spell so the flames will stay suspended above the stone surface, shifting colors constantly while magically warming the pot above it. It was all the rage in Melior that winter – enhanced by the fact that no one else could reproduce it.

"It was his idea, really," laughing, Calill would respond whenever someone asked if she came up with the concept. "Largo's really brighter than he looks."

The Calill started out as an old, decrepit inn located in the center of downtown. It was bought by the couple after the Crimean War some two years ago prior to its opening. Largo had always wanted to open up an establishment of some sort, and Calill was only happy to go along.

Of course, the story goes: The two stayed up for an entire night (according to Calill), or three (according to Largo, though it may have been five days and four nights according to the last telling he got), going through fourteen pots of brewed blackmass coffee and three bottles of gin with still no plans in sight. Then, in a flash, both of them reached the same conclusion.

"Five days and eight nights of hard thinking, buddy, Five days and eight nights! Then we got it! Bwahaha! It was the best idea anyone could ever come up with!"

Calill wanted a fine dining establishment while Largo wanted a homey, down-to-earth place where everyone could come and enjoy themselves. In the end, they ended up doing both – high culture styled atmosphere and gourmet dishes at outrageously low prices. Everyone they knew swore it wouldn't work – they would be in the red faster than Makalov lost money at the casino. The couple insisted, however, and so, amid many snickers and haughty glances, the Calill opened.

At first, business was sparse. Most of Crimea's upper class paid it no heed, while the rest of Melior barely knew it existed. Only the younger members of the Royal Knights frequented the bar at first, and then it became a favorite for the mages studying at the magic academy. The second floor was split into a multitude of small, private rooms, perfect for cramming for Crimea's stringent entrance exams or for brushing up on some arcane skills.

Soon, the older scholars and sages started to loiter around the dining rooms, sipping their chrysanthemum teas and light wines as they engaged in lively discussions. Arguments regarding magic theory and conceptual spellcraft often went on late at night at the inn, especially once the academic community realized that the fact that Calill had spellproofed the walls meant they could test out some of those theories if they needed. (In truth, it was a smart move on her part - it brought her more customers and also saved her a lot of collateral damage.)

Then, a particularly civic-minded lordling decided that this would have been an amazing spot to get in touch with the people and listen to what the people of Crimea wanted. As people gathered, and the friends and acquaintances of said lordling arrived in droves, the number of visitors skyrocketed. The rest, as Calill so elegantly explained, was "history."

Bastian breathed deeply. The smell of finely spiced roasts and pies wafted in through the open kitchen door. Not only did Largo have amazing recipes, but Calill had put her spellcraft to good use – magical trays and platters weaved between customers, delivering orders straight from the kitchen. This was probably the noisiest place in the entire tavern, but he liked where he was.

"Roasted lamb tonight, Bastian! How does that sound? Is your nose serving you well today?"

The Largo man shouted as he casually deflected a cocktail to a nearby customer.

"Marjoram, cumin, and …garlic." The sage shouted back. "The lamb sounds most delectable!"

"Right again! It'll be with you in a minute!"

Bastian nodded and poured himself a glass of water. He didn't have to wait long before a heavily laden tray shakily dashed out from the kitchen. Like a scene from a fairy tale, the wooden tray – now glowing subtly with an orange light - danced around his table for a few moments before finally deciding to drop his order. The sage watched the display with interest, noticing that the trays changed colors with every order. Their erratic movements brought little sparkles of light here and there, creating a most unique atmosphere.

"Largo, what a most curious set-up tonight! Pray do tell, what is the occasion for such, ah, array of lights?"

"That, oh-gentle-sir-Bastian, was my idea." A familiar voice answered as someone covered up his eyes with a laugh. "You'll have to guess."

"Aw, c'mon. Calill, that's not fair," her husband chuckled as he mixed another drink. "Count Bastian has better things to do with his time than delve into ancient, nearly forgotten stories, ya know?"

"They're not nearly forgotten! Well, they are - oh, nevermind! Very well, then, but only because you asked, dear."

Calill removed her hands with a flourish as she spun around, showing off her lavender dress with a plunging open back – and her lightly toned skin, too. The dress had a small, form-fitting skirt with its frontline drape falling delicately into a halter neckline. The distinguishing feature, however, was a pair of glowing wings coming out of her back. The butterfly-like accessory shone with a calming, friendly light as the sorceress winked.

"Tonight, I'm the fairy queen." The sorceress smiled confidently as she placed her hands on her hip and twirled. "All the little flying trays – they're my underlings. Midsummer's eve is in a week, so I thought it was a good idea to borrow from my old stories. Plus, Largo didn't mind me showing off a little skin now and then – right, dear?"

"Bwahaha! Of course! You're only the hottest thing there is – other than me, of course, but –"

Calill tossed her husband a playful glare.

"Kidding! Kidding! Well, anyways! Bastian! That answer your question?"

"It does indeed. Why, she walks in beauty, like the night…" The sage whistled.

"Thank you," the sorceress beamed. "But you should save the verse for someone who isn't oh, married? Or else, Largo there might get a little jealous…" The couple laughed as they exchanged a quick peck on the cheek before Calill danced away.

"Will you be staying later tonight, count? There's a new flutist in town – she's quite the charmer, too."

"Most regretfully, I cannot." Answered Bastian. "There is a matter of utmost urgency that I need to take care of tonight."

With that, he dug into his food with gusto. Somehow, he had the feeling that it was going to be a long night.

* * *

A wooden door creaked open as moonlight bathed a silhouette in its silvery light. An inscrutable expression passed over Volke's face – was it relief that he had survived another day, or was it something else? Either way, the assassin silently dropped his now-empty pouch onto the floor and struck a light.

Immediately, he realized something wasn't right. Everything was out of place. Stuff was everywhere. The pantry had absolutely been trashed, and feathers littered the ground – the remains of his bedding, slashed to a hundred ribbons. The floorboards were overturned; eating utensils lie scattered on his table. Something – or something was looking…looking for something.

But what? He had nothing of value in the house. if they were trying to go for him … it was very unprofessional to destroy property.

The assassin scanned the room evenly, assessing the damage. It was then that he noticed something else. Someone had punched a knife through the framed picture located on the centerfold of his fireplace and carved out exactly one half of the picture lodged within.

_Hmm._

Scratching his head, the assassin grabbed the devastated painting, flipped one of the overturned chairs back and sat down. He turned the frame carefully in his hand and studied it intently. The painting was of a couple holding each other in what was likely a tender moment. The would-be thief was skilled enough to expertly cut the picture in half – the young man was missing from the picture, but no details on the young woman or the surroundings were harmed. The cut was clean and smooth, devoid of any raggedness or fraying on the canvas.

The precision bothered him. He hadn't seen such ability in years. Bringing the light closer to the edge, Volke mulled over the style. If only there was more light available – he could easily tell whose style it was. The night offered no such luxury, however. Slightly frustrated, Volke mulled the situation over inside his head as he tried to play out the scenario that may have happened.

Clearly, the works here were done by at least two different parties. After all – this was his public hideout, and many knew of it. However, it was clear that the two groups differed significantly in terms of professionalism. The first one – likely a single individual was a far greater threat; the only evidence left was the painting – as discussed above. The second group was more moblike and literally tore through the place – looking for him or treasure, Volke couldn't tell.

He wonder if he should be paying more attention to what was going on in the underworld…Perhaps he'd get in touch with one of his old buddies again to see what was going on.

Planning, however, would have to wait. He heard footsteps; multiple footsteps approaching his doorway. A sudden click – a pebble being kicked out of the way, perhaps - confirmed their presence.

_So the rats are back. Splendid._ Swinging around on his chair, Volke clasped his hands together as he turned to face the entrance.

"You could have knocked." He called out evenly, the faintest hint of a threatening growl in his voice.

Immediately, a group of five cowled figures emerged from the shadows. Dressed similarly in pitch-black cloaks, one of them stepped forward, a pair of long daggers in his hands.

_Amateurs. True assassins never show their weapons openly. _

"Just who the hell are you supposed to be?" The figure shouted loudly as the five drew their weapons. "We're here, uh, lookin' for the Fireman. You best be not tryin' to jack our job!"

Only silence greeted them as the assassin calmly sat, his feet on a nearby stool. He seemed to be completely oblivious to their existence.

_Well, well, well…looking for me?_

"Hey, didja hear us? Outta our way! We were here first!"

Volke slowly brought his pipe to his mouth and lit it. The aroma of sun-cured Corbenacian tobacco filled the room.

"How dare you display such insolence before experts like us!" Shouted another man as he hurled a pair of throwing knife towards the nonchalantly smoking assassin. "You think you're so lucky, getting into here while we were out earlier. Well, chew on this! Tonight is the night that your fortune turns on you!"

"Has it?" The assassin answered, inclining his head slightly as he dodged the sloppy attack. _This was going to be entertaining. _He thought as he mused, hearing his would-be assailants gasp. _How the standards for assassins have slipped during recent years. _

"Have you something against the Fireman?" Waving disparagingly, Volke beckoned to the group, all the while keeping a careful eye on the situation at hand.

"We are here to –"another voice, this one younger than the rest spoke before he was quickly hushed by the one in the center, presumably the leader of the group.

"Silence. Jaris. Tell him nothing."

"Well, if you've something against the Fireman, you may tell it to me." Volke shrugged again. Unbuckling his daggers and placing them next to the scattered silverware onto the table, he gestured towards the overturned seats. "Why don't we talk first, and play with sharp objects later? Sit down."

The act only made the group nervous as they took a collective step back.

"Why? Who are you to him?" Finally, after a pause, their leader queried, keeping his hands inside his cloak.

"I am him."

His words had the intended effect as suddenly, ten shining daggers were drawn at the same time. Volke glanced at the weapons with some interest. The group wielded Daein gladius in pairs - long sword-like daggers designed for thrusting as well as slashing. The blade being nearly a foot long offered some advantages in close-medium ranged combat, but not by much. And dual-wielding such awkward weapons ...

_Tsk._

"Then the Fireman will perish here tonight!"

In unison, the group of assassins charged at Volke, blades poised for the kill. Volke calmly slammed the table with one hand, holding onto his pipe with the other. He hated to show off, but this time…

**Clink clink clink clink clink clink.**

A series of sounds and a blur was all the leader of the group noticed as he suddenly found himself weaponless. With shock, he stared at his hands. They were empty. He blinked. What?

They were empty indeed. His daggers lie on the floor, knocked some ten feet away by …something, a silver dart, perhaps? Behind him, he heard a few thuds – the sounds of his men's bodies hitting the floor. Then, a moment later, his arms and legs stopped functioning as his mind registered the pain.

Before him, Volke was calmly twirling a spoon in his hand as he breathed deeply, exhaling smoke.

"Im…im...impossible!!"

A chilling feeling ran down his spine as he spun around wildly, taking in the array of glittering objects embedded in the wooden walls around him. Slowly, it dawned upon him that in that instant that they charged to strike, the Fireman had knocked all the scattered silverware into the air. Deflected them with the spoon in his hand with the force of a missile, each individual fork, knife, or spoon was aimed for a lethal spot on the body – whether it be eye socket, nerve cluster, or pressure point.

Kicking aside the table in front of him, Volke stalked over to the prone assassin, the faintest hint of a grin on his face. Most of the assassins died before even realizing what had hit them. This one will soon follow.

"Don't try anything." He warned his unknown assailant. "Just tell me what I want to know, and I'll let you live."

"A-anything you wish!"

"Who hired you?"

This was the most elementary of questions, and one that every assassin worth his salt will never answer, under pains of death. It was basic professional etiquette.

"Daein. We …" the man squirmed uncomfortably in his grip. "Ugh…let me …loose, and I'll …tell you…everything!"

Volke loosened his hand.

"Haha! Such a fool!" With a glint in his eye, the assassin produced a hidden blade from his sleeve. He howled as he eagerly punched forward. "I have you now! DIE!"

Volke wasn't impressed.

_How the professional standards have slipped._

Evenly holding the surprise attack with two fingers along the flat edge of the blade, he was about to reach for the daggers on the table when he realized that he could show this insolent knock-off something else. Ten years ago, he had sworn it off completely after that one event that changed his life. It might be good for him to warm up again.

Volke approached the assassin and tapped in on the side of the head.

Normally, such a weaponless strike would be useless, but Volke wasn't known as the Fireman for nothing. In those older days, he was compared to a raging fire – every single strike from him consumed his enemies like a fire from within. That was his art – a thousand year old assassination technique that focused on destroying the opponent from inside out using pressure points and various positions on the body to inflict the maximum amount of damage possible. It was an art that channeled energy into each individual blow, making all of his attacks a fatal strike at any location. His entire body was essentially a living weapon. Arguably speaking, he was more dangerous unarmed than armed.

"A pity. You could have survived, but you've lost that chance."

Shoving the attacker back, Volke removed his finger. The assassin merely gaped blankly, not understanding what had happened.

"What? What did you do to me?! AAAARGH!"

The man's face contorted strangely as he howled in agony.

"Tell me! Tell me! You didn't cut me or anything, but why does it hurt?!"

"What I have hit is a fatal pressure point." The assassin answered, turning around to leave. This house had no further use to him, and it was best that he hit the roads once more. There wasn't much for him to pack, either way - everything that he could ever use was with him at all times. The assassin turned to leave.

No, wait, there was something he might want to keep. Volke took the canvas and slowly rolled it up. _For old times. _

Picking the rest of his belongings in a small satchel and belting his daggers back on, Volke walked past the writhing man and whispered the last thing the hapless idiot would ever hear.

"You're already dead."

* * *

He had had too much to eat that night.

_Should have, could have, would have resisted the dessert if it wasn't on fire... Alas, foul temptation..._

Groaning slightly, the sage settled down into his seat inside the Grand Court. The chamber was large enough for a meeting of hundreds, but tonight, it would be audience to only less than a score – the lords of Crimea, and the queen herself.

A dozen chandeliers lit the gilded ceiling tiles with their resplendent aura, their craftsmenship representing the pinnacle of Crimean artistic and magical ability. A large circular ring of tables, twelve in all, circled Elincia's throne, their polished rosewood surface reflecting the hours and hours of work from the Palace caretakers.

True to an age-old decree, each table was home to a seat that remained reserved at all times for their respective provincial representative. The number twelve came from the initial founding of Crimea, when the High King took with him twelve peers that eventually settled across the land, forming the noble houses of today.

"Count Bastian. You're early today."

A deep, glamorous voice drifted across the hallway as the speaker lightly plodded across the shining floor. Instinctively, Bastian knew who the speaker was. Only one woman in the entire capital of Melior had that particular tone of voice.

"Mage-General Qieru. Good eve to thee." He replied as the mage took the seat next to him, gently smoothing out her pale yellow robes.

_Quiet, level-headed, and persuasive, the sage specialized in lightning magic. Known as the "lightning rod" among her staff and students, Qieru had a unique talent for diffusing conflicts – making her a valuable member at court, especially when debates became heated. The twenty-something younger woman was the head of the magical academy and representative of Meliora, Crimea's central district._

Crimea, of course, had a simple political structure. The twelve noble houses had direct access to Queen Elincia, and were allowed to voice their concerns and give advice at any time. They were also responsible for answering the queen's summons - or, in dire circumstances, send direct representatives to take their place. However, in the end, all decisions were still made by Elincia, though the queen was generally democratic – democratic enough to the point where she was "content to be pushed around," as some would say.

His eyes wandered to a large map pinned to the back of the palace walls. He had been away from court for a long time, though Bastian was sure the political factions inside it have not changed much.

Geographically speaking, the land was divided into four distinct regions. The two western provinces – Corbenac and Tiraclon were far and away from the rest of the realm, and are generally disinterested with political affairs of the "central realms." The warm, temperate climate was ideal for the growing of crops, as well as for raising livestock.

Directly below the two provinces lies the province of Caeleron, a heavily forested region that was home to most of the kingdom's laguz population. It is because of this intermingling among the two races that Caeleron tends to keep to itself most of the time. It is a wild land- untamed, and beautiful. The roads there are hazardous, and bandits – both Crimean and Gallian – still roamed the land. Either way, the river Frangere served as a natural barrier that kept these three provinces apart from the rest of the kingdom, which naturally caused them to look after each other. They were known as the Western Bloc.

His eyes moved across the map, past the faintly marked roads leading from Gallia into another region.

Stretching from the northern coast all the way deep into the Crimean heartland, the Frangere came into a gentle stop at the foot of the Mugil Mountains in the province of Marhaut. The lake of Alendale pooled there, drawing all sorts of wildlife and providing the kingdom with rare meats and delicacies. The deeply forested mountain regions were home to Crimea's famed Royal Pegasi and also timber of the highest quality.

Directly below the mountains of Marhaut sat the realm of Broceliande. The province was described as an elfin, ethereal realm filled with a fey beauty, especially during summertime as the mists rolls in. It enveloped the Isle of Camlann, where the Order of Radiance was housed upon a tiny island in the middle of Alendale.

Except...Camlann was an outlier factor. The Order of Radiance took neither suggestion nor order from anyone else but the Queen, and ... well, they are usually objective enough. Though the center of the chivalry had been moved to Melior and then, Delbray, many paladins of great renown still saw Camlann as their home. These three realms – Marhaut, Broceliande, and the Isle of Camlann were considered to be the center for chivalry, order, and spiritual learning.

Nearby, a giant symbol glowed on the map, its steel-red ink reminding its reader that Crimea was not all forest-and-grassland. If one only wandered a little further to the north, they would find the mills and forges of the province of Solsbury, located mere miles away from Melior, the capital itself.

Bastian sniffed. He didn't like the place very much - though the nightlife, he heard, was quite good. Either way, it was in stark contrast with his homeland - and neighbour. Fayre was known for its orchards – in autumn, an annual wine-tasting festival was hosted in Bastian's own manor-home. Felirae, on the other hand, had a series of bustling port towns. From there, freshly caught tuna and mackerel wiggled atop wooden decks as fishermen hauled in their catches and traders from all over Tellius peddled their wares.

Nestled between the three provinces was the district of Meliora, home to the capital city, Melior, the city of sages. Due to the proximity of the royal court and fears of unnecessary influence and pressures, Meliora does not have an actual presiding noble. The seat is instead given to the Scholar-General or Mage-General of the Royal Magical Academy. No one could agree upon the precise differences, but generally, the Scholar-General tends to specialize in conceptual theories and experimentation while the Mage-General focuses on practical and military applications. The two figures usually work in synchronization, but it is rare to find an Archsage with the caliber to do both. Regardless, Melior possessed the continent's largest library, and many travelled great distances in order to study among its shelves.

It was lucky, for him, that he himself stayed on very good terms with Meliora. No one in their right mind wanted to cross the mages, lest some horrible incident fall upon them. While Qieru herself stayed above such unscruplous methods, others were ... a little more persuasive.

A little west of the capital, the twin fortresse of Nados and Pinel silently guarded its entranceway and the heartland of Crimea. Built long ago, the imposing architecture, with its many towers and parapets reminded onlookers that though Crimea was a peaceful country, its children were nonetheless more than capable of defending themselves. These castles were under the jurisdiction of the lord of Tol Essex and served as an important line of defense. Crimea's eastern borders were further secured by the cavaliers of Delbray, who maintained a diligent watch on the rivers and the plains, keeping the peace across the land. When these knight errant are not on the Queen's business, however, they formed small roving communities in Delbray, hiring themselves out as mercenaries for honorable causes or sought out adventure – wherever it may be.

Tonight, however, the representative of Delbray was absent – Geoffrey was away on business on behalf of the Royal Knights. Bastian would have to take his place.

The great wooden doors created open again as more people began to shuffle into the room. A heavily armored general, clad entirely in green was followed by an aristocratic looking young man with a funny-looking feathered hat. Exchanging a quick nod of greetings towards the mages, both of them took their seats across the room.

They were certainly an odd-looking pair. The young man was clad in some sort of naval-looking uniform – perhaps a fleet officer of some sort, judging from the sextet and telescope, as well as the seaman's sabre that hung by his side easily. The general, on the other hand, had no distinguishing features on his green armor. Where one would expect to find household emblems or symbols, there was only a faintly visible line of intertwining ivy vines. The other man's emblem – one of a stylized Calamaro squid seemed vaguely familiar, but she still couldn't figure out where she had seen it before.

"Who is that?" Qieru whispered as she pointed towards the pair. The weeks spent inside the archives researching did nothing to improve her knowledge of the court.

"I heard that, lass." Taking off the full-helm, the general coughed as he placed it next to his seat, revealing a weathered old face that had seen too many winters. "Bercilak of Tol Essex, at yer service."

_Sir Bercilak, the garrison commander of Tol Essex. Known as Crimea's shield, the province was home to a pair of mighty fortifications that guarded the main approach – and the only transcontinental road that lead to Crimea. Sir Bercilak was a grizzled veteran of many wars and a brilliant commander, known by some as the Green Knight in his younger days. However, despite his brilliance, he was still forced to withdraw from the last war due to his grievous wound at Nados. The loss struck him hard, and he has been working hard since._

Nonetheless, Bercilak's smile was genial. Pointing to the person sitting next to him with a gauntleted hand, he continued.

"This young man's Fleet Admiral Arback. He's standing in for Felirae tonight."

"Good evening to you, my lady," the young man nodded, inclining his head as the admiral's hat bobbed happily. "You may call me Lugh, if you wish."

_Felirae. The trading and seafaring capital of Crimea. The situation was iffy there - no one was sure of its intentions after the fiasco with Duke Ludveck. People from Felirae are now generally viewed with great suspicion, though younger nobles, such as Lugh Arback here were working hard to dispel those feelings. Lugh himself belonged to part of the pro-Elincia faction, and rose quickly among the ranks of nobility due to his skill as a naval commander. His household emblem could be seen from afar. However, the young man was also a little paranoid - for good reason, too. Due to his outspoken nature, quite a few would love to see him dead.  
_

One by one, others filled the room. The chatter of small talk could be heard as the hour of the meeting inched in closer. Bastian looked around. Tol Essex, Fayre, Meliora, Felirae…He saw Seidr, the lady of Corbenac and Launfal of Caeleron earlier. Tiraclon and …that must be the lady of Broceliande, judging from the elaborate dress... yes, she just entered now. Good, mostly everyone was here.

"Where is the representative of Camlann?" The sage heard a noble nearby whisper loudly. "We could use advice from the Order of Radiance…"

"I know not." Answered another noble. "Sir Bedivere would not be late, I think. The situation is dire enough to warrant his attention..."

Noticing the sage, the two hurriedly turned around. One of them flashed Bastian an apologetic smile as they continued to whisper urgently.

"So, what do you think?" Hearing the topic of discussion, Qieru nudged the sage sitting next to her. "How do you interpret the situation at hand?"

"Lo, my lady... The current situation calls for finesse…Daein cannot mean harm, yet there is no good coming from that letter." Bastian, scratching his head, thoughtfully replied. It was true. For once, he could not read Daein's intentions. Whatever his suspicions were, however, it would have to wait. The clear call of a trumpet signaled the Queen's arrival.

"Ever better."

Chanting the age-old greetings in unison, the lords of Crimea stood and bowed as one as Queen Elincia entered the room. Flanked by Lord Renning and her ever-faithful bodyguard, Lucia, the queen gracefully walked over to her throne and sat down.

"My most esteemed friends, please, be seated." Gesturing kindly, Elincia waved. "I have no doubts that each and every one of you here knew the reason for your summoning – I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but as you all know, the matter is urgent."

She paused and surveyed the room. Bastian noticed her lip quivering slightly at the sight of Geoffrey's empty seat. Elincia wore a light pink dress tonight – a soft color that matched her slippers. No doubt she had hoped that a certain cavalier would be present. Ah, well, he mused. Another time, another place, perhaps.

"…It appears that the representative of Delbray and the Isle are missing. Very well. Lord Uncle Renning? Will you preside over the meeting?"

Renning nodded as he regally walked to the center of the chamber, his back to the queen and his front to the ring of nobles. Taking his position at the podium, the former prince-to-the-throne coughed loudly and began to speak.

"I, Lord Renning Ridell of Crimea, shall speak on behalf of the queen tonight as the presiding officer." Stretching out a hand, the hall echoed with his voice as he gestured to the group sitting before him. "I now call this session to order."

Immediately, four of the ten nobles present stood up. The procedure for formal meetings such as these was simple – whoever wished to speak simply stood up and waited to be called upon.

"The Court recognizes Admiral Arback of Felirae." Renning called out evenly, maintaining his eye contact as the other nobles sat back down. "You may begin."

The young man stared for a moment, surprised. Generally, the oldest members present were given precedent over the younger. He had no idea why Lord Renning decided to make an exception. Either way, he wasn't going to squander it. Taking a deep breath, the young man took a moments to gather his thoughts and slowly began.

"I am young and unlearned compared to many here, so I will keep my opinion brief. Felirae stands against the resolution, my lords and ladies. As a loyal subject of Crimea, I cannot allow a permanent foreign presence upon our soil. It is based on this reason that I must voice my objection against the Daein messenger."

Bercilak nodded in approval, as did a few of the other lords present. The young man's words held much merit. It was true. A foreign presence, no matter how friendly, still smelled of espionage. In a case where a formal alliance did not exist, the point was even more obvious. Lugh sat back down, content. He had delivered a simple yet effective message. The ringing sound of wood striking wood echoed in the hall as Renning tapped the podium.

"Admiral Arback has finished his statement. Are there any rebuttals to his claims?"

This time, five of the nobles present stood, including Qieru. Bastian sighed. It was probably better for him to stay put for now, and watch the others debate it out.

"The Court recognizes Lord Culainn of Tiraclon."

The others returned to their seats, leaving a leanly muscled man in his mid twenties standing before the group. His grey tight fitting armor fairly clinked as he pushed back a strand of blue hair. There was something about his grin that reminded Bastian of a certain womanizing, green-armored cavalier from a tale he had read.

_Culainn, the Lord of Tiraclon. A chivalrous, if wordy fellow. Quite the lady's man, too – Tiraclon's usually rife with rumors of his next sweetheart._

"Friends, Crimeans, Countrymen, lend me your ears! In recent years, Tiraclon – and Crimea - has experienced a great surge in trade, a staggering revival, and even now, is on a well-established path to further glory. I have two major points of contention against Admiral Arback's claims." Culainn, leaving his seat, began to pace. One or two of the nobles groaned.

"Firstly, we must consider the reasons for Daein's behavior. We know that Daein could either mean good or harm – the two cannot intermingle. If Daein meant good, then all is well. If Daein meant harm, then…then all discussion goes out of the window.

However. I am not here to guess at Daein's intentions, but to look at the situation analytically. What could Daein gain by planting a spy amongst us? The answer is…" Pausing dramatically, Culainn flashed the court a glance. "…Absolutely nothing.

For you see, as much as our own lands have suffered, Daein, infinitely more so. Due to poor management on the Apostle's part, Daein struggled socially, economically, and politically for the last three years. Their sorry state ended only a few months ago when the Dawn Priestess took the throne. The Dawn Priestess is a maiden of most high caliber – a lady of peace. Are any of you claiming that the lady who veritably saved the world would wish us harm?"

Silence met him. Smiling, Culainn continued.

"But I digress. Suppose Daein does mean us harm. If that is the case, they can only hope to attack us militarily. The reason why we lost the first war was because we were caught off-guard. Now, we are much more prepared. Daein's army is hardly a threat, in comparison to ours, which are infinitely more trained and skilled.

In addition, have all of you forgotten who patrols our borders? General Geoffrey and his men are more than capable of handling any threats, anywhere. And Lord Bercilak's twin castles are no easy feat to simply trespass. I say, we are safe. Safe from Daein, and Daein can offer no harm to us. It is this reason why we should at least offer our neighbor a chance! Remember the old saying…"

And so on, and so on. Bastian stifled a yawn. Culainn, despite always claiming to get to the point, rarely did so. In that sense, the lance-lord was just like him – except he_ knew_ how to give a speech. Instead, he contented himself with watching the giant hourglass at the corner. Perhaps Culainn will have mercy tonight and only give a forty-minute instead of his usual hour-long statements.

His thoughts began to drift. As always, they returned to Lucia. He felt bad for her – she was forced to listen to them ramble on and on about critical decisions that would affect thousands of people, yet she was never allowed participation.

That, and he wondered how she felt about reading his diary. Admittedly speaking, the prose was not his best work. At this point, he wished he had left the sonnet book in the library instead.

_Take good cheer,_ said a soothing voice in his head. _At least she doth not avoid thee as much as three days prior. _

_Maybe,_ he replied._ Yet she seems withdrawn._

_Withdrawn? Lucia is always withdrawn. _

_Perhaps. Not like this though. I suspect she hides something – a dark secret, perhaps, or some grave pain._

_You do not think she hath fallen for someone else…?_

An unpleasant mental image of Lucia in the arms of a shadowy figure appeared in his head. He quickly brushed that aside.

_Would that be the case, then poor Bastian will gladly prove himself in whatever manner appropriate for her lovely hand._

No. Probably not. If she had a suitor, or if she was seeing someone, not only would he know immediately, but Geoffrey would know. The general of the Royal Knights would then immediately thrust it in his face and extract harsh justice for all the times he prodded and poked at the young man's love for Elincia. There was no way that dour young man could pass up an opportunity like this.

No, Lucia was not seeing anyone else. The more plausible explanation - Lucia was simply shocked by horrible writing seemed more credulous and appropriate.

Though. One thing did bother him.

_I…I am no longer the angel you think I am… Please, Bastian… I…Forget about me._

Truthfully, seeing Lucia in such a vulnerable state frightened him. Lucia had always been the silent stoic. While Elincia was more prone to bouts of crying, Lucia never did. She rarely showed emotion, so it was hard to get through to her in the first place.

Yes, that was true. It made it so much harder to read her. Perhaps it was for the best - if there was one thing Lucia hated, it was being vulnerable. She was the type of girl who would never show weakness in front of anyone, not even her closest friends and family members. And, as far as Bastian could remember, she didn't cry. Not even the time she broke her arm as she fell from a tree, trying to fetch her brother a bauble from a bird's nest.

Perhaps, after the meeting tonight, he would get to the bottoms of it. That had been the first time Lucia actually broke down (sort of) in front of him, and that act in itself worried him. He was certain she hadn't been drunk, so there had to be a good reason for it.

But for now, or the next half-hour, he shall dream again.

He remembered that scene clearly. Being six years older than she was, he had just finished his studies for the day. Of course, they never really played much at the time – both of them were too busy. While the other children were laughing and running around, he was studying to become a mage. She, on the other hand…

Immersing himself in his memory, Bastian closed his eyes. Soon, he was snoozing contentedly with a smile on his face.

* * *

Lucia yawned as she shifted weight from one foot to another. Culainn's speech was quickly approaching the fifty minute mark, and there was no end as far as she could see.

At this point, only Arback still paid attention as he furiously scribbled down every point the man made. Qieru doodled absentmindedly on a piece of paper as the lords sitting around were either dozing contentedly or staring off into empty pace. Elincia stifled a yawn as she stared at Culainn in the blankest way she could think of. Judging from the expression on her face, she was probably thinking something along the lines of _Please._ _We understood your point. Will you shut up already?_

"…But what is a man? A man, is a man. When looking at the question simply. However! A man is more than just a man…"

Alas, the hotheaded speaker was too caught up in his own antics to notice the hint. Even Lord Renning tapped his feet impatiently as he waited for Culainn to finish, though the sight of Bastian happily snoring away with his head on the desk brought a smile to Lucia's face.

She wondered what he dreamed about that made him so happy – though, moments later, she silently chided herself for asking such an obvious question. He was, with ninety degree certainty, dreaming about her – perhaps dreaming about past times, or about times to come.

Did she like him? She couldn't tell, really. Up until this point, she had never given him a chance – the two were close friends, certainly, but not yet at the level where she would feel comfortable entering a relationship that might eventually lead to marriage. The fact that both of them also put their queen and country first before anything else also hindered that – lovers in the queen's service had a notorious habit of having someone dying on the other as the years progressed.

Still, she reasoned, it couldn't hurt. At least, she should try to reach out to him more. Getting to know him a little better, if she had time to spare, would certainly be good for both of them. At the very least, she needed to find out what it was about her that enchanted him so -

_You're setting yourself up for disappointment._ A small voice whispered to her, its tone full of malice. _No man will ever want you after knowing what happened to you. _

_You may be Lucia Delbray, the queen's protector. You might be able to cut a candle in half without disturbing the flames. You may be skilled in speaking, dancing, sewing, writing, cooking, whatever. You may have knowledge in just about every single subject out there, but no one will love you. No one can. You're worthless now, you know? Tainted, spoiled, dirty. That's what you are. _

_Not even him? _

_Not even him. It doesn't matter who you are – go on. Try it. Tell him, and see how he reacts. _

_You lie. _She screamed silently. _I am worth something. And even if I am not, I'll be more than glad to lay down my worthless life for Crimea, for the people that I care about. _

_Suit yourself._

It was good that she was good at hiding her feelings. Those barbs of negativity were flung at her – by herself – on a daily basis. During the war, she had no time to muse on her own nature, and so, the points were largely hidden. Recently, however, it was harder and harder for her to persuade herself that she was more than just…

Just…

No one knew what happened to her in those dungeons. Not Elincia, not Geoffrey, and certainly not her father. The load was hers to bear, and the weight…it was crushing her, slowly but surely, from the inside.

Watching the sleeping sage, she wondered for a moment if – no. At least, now was not the time. She could tell him. It was not within her jurisdiction to share what she had.

_To whoever's listening out there…please…just give me enough strength to carry on… a little longer.

* * *

_

"And so, gentle lords and ladies! It is for the reasons that I have summarized above that we must consider Daein's proposal. Are there any questions, comments, or rude remarks at this time?"

Taking a graceful bow, Culainn lightly stepped back to his seat. A few moments later, Renning grumbled silently to himself as he rubbed his eyes – now the rest of the court would think he was getting too old for this sort of thing…

Bang! He smashed at the podium, watching in satisfaction as the sound rippled across the room. The sight of several present nobles jumping in surprise made him feel better for no reason at all as discussion and debate commenced once more.

The points were evenly matched. On one hand, Daein's intentions could be interpreted as friendly – having Micaiah on the throne only solidified that claim. On the other hand, it was difficult to gauge true intentions from a single letter. The situation was quickly heating up, with neither side gaining a solid advantage. Between a thirty-minute speech given by Bastian and Culainn's long rant, though, the court was near its limits as tensions ran high.

* * *

"Woah, hey, Jill, easy there. I'm just delivering another message – not like I'm going to be running around skewering bandits or anything like that." Haar gently patted his new bride's head as he turned and saddled up his wyvern. "I'll be back in a jiffy. Promise."

"This is the second time the court called upon you in three days. It's not like you're the only Dragon rider Queen Micaiah had in her service…" Jill complained. A hint of irritation crept into her voice as she caressed the dragonlord's face, wondering how long it would be before she got to see him again.

A mere week ago, the two were wed at that very same spot – the balcony of Castle Talrega. Everyone thought the two deserved each other. Having gone through hell and back together during the last few years, their bond was tempered by an experience that was built underneath the open skies and forged in the trials of battle.

The moonlight shone on her silhouette as she hugged him tightly, unwilling to let him go. In response, the one-eyed rider shrugged and gently pushed her away.

"No idea. I wasn't about to ask though."

His wyvern snorted, but he paid his old partner no heed. Actually, that was a blatant lie – he did know something, but he wasn't going to tell her.

"Well, you know best….Take care."

Queen Micaiah's worried about … something, something that was rightfully of concern. He thought as the wyvern roared and took off into the air.

_Jill, stay safe. It's better if you didn't get into this mess._ With a final wave, the dragonlord quickly disappeared into the clouds above.

* * *

"..Lady Siedr of Corbenac has finished her argument. Are there any who would counter her claims?"

One single person remain standing. The rest were content to let others speak as Renning nodded.

"The Court recognizes Lord Bercilak of Tol Essex. You have the floor." Then, as if an afterthought, he hastily added. "Please, keep this one under fifteen minutes, if you would."

"Lord Renning, I am not as senile as many think I am!" The old general replied. "As for ye, younglings…yes, yes. All of ye 'ere. Including ye, Culainn. Now, feel free to cut off an old man's ramble at any given time when ye feel necessary – why, back in my days, court wasn't nearly so structuralized! Everyone spoke as they pleased! None of this standing-up-and-waiting-to-be-called business –"

"Sir Bercilak."

"Alright, alright! I'm getting to the point here. Yer younglings know nothing of the harsh realities of war…call me jaded, or old, or crazy, or whatever you wish. Daein cannae have good intentions here! And 'ere's why. Now, ye. Culainn. Ye made a couple of good points about how it'd improve relations with Daein, and how the Priestess of Dawn would never wish us harm. But no matter how ye look at it, with what kind of glasses on or whatever phrase yer youngling use these days, ye still see something fishy behind it all. First, the whole thing's just one way! Daein doesn't want one of our lads or lasses at their capital, hanging about and hearing every word from Micaiah. No, sir! Daein just wants someone here to keep an eye on us. Getting my drift here?"

A wave of murmurs again broke out among the nobles. Bercilak made sense. Something was indeed suspicious here – a singular diplomatic channel was generally reserved for vassal states, not states on equal terms.

"Secondly, lads and lasses. Remember what they did to Crimea? Those Daein dogs, if you'll pardon me for saying this, Queen Elincia, tore most of eastern Crimea apart. Crops were burnt; villages were razed. Thousands of innocents, butchered or captured for Councilor Izuka's sick experiments, as Count Bastian here can no doubt speak about – and even you, Lord Renning! The old saying goes, 'a tiger doesn't change its stripes." Do you honestly believe one good egg out of the whole bunch could mean us good?"

"Yes, and rightfully so, Sir Bercilak."

A new voice interrupted the old general as another man with the trappings of a Silver Knight walked into the chamber. Silver knights were as rare as they were – only a handful was promoted every four years. Yet it was his cape that caught everyone's attention. A simple crisscrossed blue patterned cloak, the borders of the white fabric were filled with lines and lines of writing. The runic words mesmerized all who looked upon them as they swirled with a constant stream of shifting letters in old Crimean.

If the onlooker looked at the text closely, they might just see something –a message, perhaps, or a prophecy. No one could be sure. All the same, a small emblem on the top of his plumed helmet – that of a sword plunged into a large boulder - marked him as a representative of the Isle of Camlann. There was an aura of mystique around him – something holy and ethereal that no one could place their finger on exactly. It was like a gust of wind; a gentle breeze that enveloped the knight, blessed by the lake itself.

Kneeling before the queen, the knight removed his helmet, revealing a mane of pale hair beneath and a scholarly, wizard-like visage, the thirty-something face showed much more than it should have. His steel-grey eyes were alert, yet haunted with things that few should have known about, and there was a degree of weariness within them, as if they were tired with the world. Despite his appearance, however, one look at this man told the others that whoever he was – he was not a force to be trifled with.

"Well, lad! Bedivere! How good of ye to join us! Go on!"

_Bedivere. Knight-commander of Camlann and a direct representative of the Isle itself. Rumored to be blessed by the Goddess, Fairies, or both, the paladin was careful not to be seen in public too often – for he and his knights worked in secret, just like Lucia. Some said that Bedivere was one of the talented few who could command the winds of magic and swing a blade at the same time. Bastian, personally, dismissed it as mere hoohah, fueled by rabid supporters._

"I bring word from the Isle," Bedivere answered coolly. "I am here to urge everyone to take Daein's suggestion, for the sake of peace."

This time, excited chatter could be heard in the back. The paladins of the Isle of Camlann rarely made such statements, preferring to stay neutral in most debates. For Bedivere himself to come, with such strong words, the decision must be certain indeed.

"But why?" Qieru, piping up from her corner, asked. "How would accepting Daein's proposition bring about peace?"

"Simple. If we reject their offer, Daein will take it as a sign of hostility."

"But you can't accept such a proposition! What if they mean harm? Were they to catch us off-guard, the Royal Knights could repel an invasion of that magnitude! Remember what happened last time?"

This statement was also true – apart from the Crimean Royal Knights, the military of Crimea was highly decentralized. Each province was home to its own militia and state troops, with the only exception of Delbray, Tol Essex, and Felirae maintaining an active military presence at all times. Daein, on the other hand, maintained a large force at all times.

"Admiral Arback," the silver knight replied, casually pointing an accusatory finger at the younger man. "While what you say is true, we have no other choice, do we? Have you another course of decision, then? Shall we reject their message?"

"No, but …" Arback sighed in exasperation. "It's a trap! It has to be a trap."

"Even it was one, what can we do? The only thing we can do is go –"

"The youngling's right, for once. It never hurts to be on the side of caution –"

The room erupted as shouting of many kinds could be heard.

"What do you know of caution? You, if I recall, were the one who …"

"Calling me out? Don't make me laugh. You…"

"Trap or not, we should try to close down this discussion." Renning tossed Qieru an appreciative glance as she stood up and spoke quietly. Instantly, the shouting ceased as she took up her customary position as the mediator. "Nothing can come out of strife. As for Meliora, we shall remain neutral in this regard, though I personally urge that we receive the Daein messenger as soon as we are able to do so."

"Indeed, good lady Qieru. Sir Bedivere, may I?" Bastian commented, not wanting to interrupt as technically, it was still Bedivere's turn to speak. Seeing the silver knight nod, he hastily stood. Before another fractured argument break out, he wanted to conclude the discussion to prevent more useless argumentation.

"There is no reason for provocation at the moment - the spirit of war hangs still above our weary heads, and it is as likely for Daein to try to plot a move toward us as a raven being wholesomely deceitful! Furthermore, the Mad King wanted the Emblem – the object, in which, thanks to no small act on Micaiah's part, is gone. There could be no ill motive on their part – unless, of course, we've another circular disk with the soul of a goddess hidden somewhere in Crimea!"

A few nobles chuckled at the statement. Lucia smiled.

"So! For the sake of diplomacy, O lords and ladies, I must humbly request that we consider Lord Culainn and Sir Bedivere's words here, lest fortune takes a turn for the worst. I say, that Fayre shall support the Daein newcomer! And by support," the sage added quickly. "I mean keeping an extremely close eye on what he or she will be doing."

"A sound plan," Elincia noted. Immediately, all heads turned towards the queen. "It is now three hours past Midnight. Thank you, everyone, for your input. Before I announce my decision, is there anyone else who would like to add something?"

"It's a trap." The fleet admiral muttered quietly to himself. His complaint, however, was drowned out by the even strikes of bells.

Elincia paused, as if carefully considering her words. Behind her, the bells rang, their sound suspiciously ominous in the twilight air.

"Crimea will accept Daein's offer, though for good or ill, I cannot say. In this, I ask for your aid just as my father and forefathers have, long ago."

"The queen's decision has been made. Are there any who would voice concern at this time?"

The nobles present shook their heads. Despite a few of them disagreeing with the queen's choice, no one was willing to speak out against her.

"Then, seeing none, I shall call this session to a close."

* * *

"Good night, Lucia. You should get some rest."

"Night." Lucia answered as she closed the doors to the queen's chambers. Despite the hour being late, she didn't feel tired at all. Her mind was strangely clear.

Walking down the corridors of Palace Melior this late at night – or rather, this early in the morning – always made her feel lonely.

Perhaps she should get used to it.

Unconsciously, the swordmistress straightened up her tunic as she reached her room. Why was she experiencing these sudden bouts of depression? She didn't know. Perhaps it had something to do with the relative peace surrounding her life these days. The lack of something to distract her mind with meant that she had more time to reflect. With an increasing amount of free time, she found that she couldn't simply … forget the past.

Enough, she told herself. You've more things to worry about than _that_. Right now you need sleep.

Lucia fumbled for her keys in the dark, cursing herself for not carrying a light. It was a while before she realized that earlier that night, in her haste to finish her task, she had locked them inside.

Sighing, she dejectedly walked away from the door. How in the world did she make such an elementary mistake? She'd get Geoffrey tomorrow – he was surely sleeping now.

Where could she go? The library was almost certainly closed, at this hour. Lucia rubbed her temples as she yawned, her tired feet carrying her to the upper levels. Maybe one of the rooms in the towers were still unlocked – she didn't mind. Anywhere would be fine at this point.

_What about Bastian?_ _He surely wouldn't mind if you spent the night in his suite…_

_Yeah, right._ She rolled her eyes at the suggestion. _And would I want to fuel rumors for the next month or three? You know It's bound to happen if someone saw me hanging around his room, even if there are separate bedrooms. _

Despite the thought, however, she found herself at his door. She didn't know why, but she was there. A moment of hesitation passed before she knocked lightly, hoping that the Count was still conscious – come to think of it, she wanted to talk to him.

The door opened with a creak as Bastian, in his funny sleeping cap, peered cautiously from behind the heavy wooden frames. His eyes lit up instantly at the sight of her.

"Tra ha ha! Lady Lucia! A wee bit late for you to be gracing my humble dwelling with your elegant presence, nay?"

"Bastian. I'm locked out."

A pause, and then a subtle "oh" escaped the sage's throat. He looked a little disappointed at first, but his expression quickly brightened as he tossed the door wide open.

"Say no more! Let me prepare the other room for your presence, then! Please, come on in!"

Lucia watched Bastian with a bemused expression on her face as the sage hurriedly sauntered around, pulling pillows from chests and unpacking blankets. Bastian rarely used the room here in the palace, preferring to stay out either in the field, or back in his home estate at Fayre.

_You know, he really isn't as bad as you thought he was – how many other men could you think of who'd do something like this for you without a second thought?_

The swordmistress smiled sadly as she pushed the thought out. It was true, which meant…

The eventual parting would hurt that much more. For now, however, she was determined to do with what she could – until one of them worked up the courage to ask or to tell, the question of her past would remain unanswered.

"And, it is done. I apologize – it is likely not fit for such a dainty little rose like yourself –"

"It's fine, Bastian." Lucia answered, the faintest hint of humor still lingering in her voice. "Do you believe me when I say I'm not as dainty as you think I am?"

"I thought that particular fact was established already when you shoved me off the apple tree a good ten years ago," the sage answered with a wry smile as he poked the fireplace. "Or the numerous exchanges we have had over the years..."

"You…you still remember that?!" Blushing ferociously at the memory, Lucia was glad that the room was still dark.

"Of course. Must say! It was one of the most enlightening experiences in my humble life – gravity is indeed a universal force. Tea?"

Holding up a small teapot, Bastian gestured. A collection of fine leaves decorated the mantle of the fireplace.

"Tea would be fine," the swordmistress answered. The two passed some time in quietness as they waited for the water to boil. For some reason, it reminded her of a night that she had spent in much the same way, many years ago.

_Hahaha. Oh, Bastian. You say you want to find a nice lady to settle down with. How do you plan on doing that?_

_Indeed. I would like to know as well. Whatever it is, I hope you aren't as blockheaded as my brother…_

_Who are you calling blockheaded?_

_You. Of course._

_Am not! Anyways, Bastian. Your answer?_

The four of them were around Renning's old tea kettle, late at night. They used to have random discussions like these all the time…

_Well, good Geoffrey. I do not know if I could do my own feelings justice. But perhaps, these lines will suffice._

_Well, let's hear it!_

_I ask for little, for happiness is often transient – yet, even for a brief while, should I get to know her …should I get to know someone after my own heart…my love shall belong to her only. As for me…_

If she remembered correctly, Bastian took a while before he settled on the simple words he said back there.

_I'll shelter her with tenderness; I'll love her while I may. And for the happiness I've known, forever grateful stay. _

That night, Bastian's words touched her in such a way that no words ever had. Of course, how was she supposed to know that she had ended up becoming the target of his affection?

Bastian, however, was true to his word. His steadfast devotion never once wavered, in all of these years. All the little things he did, the gifts and baubles on special occasions… even his well-coordinated rescue, without which she would have surely lost her life…

"…Bastian?"

"Aye, my lady?" The sage turned to face her; detecting a slight tremor in her voice.

"I … really, Bastian," Lucia answered, stammering a little. She wasn't sure how to tell him this, because she didn't want to give him the wrong impression. At the same time, she didn't want to hide anything either. "Thank you. I don't know how to put it any other way. Thank you."

The sage smiled again. It was an awkward comment, but he understood what she meant. Taking a small sip from his cup, as if testing the temperature of the water, he answered.

"Lady Lucia, please, as your brother and Queen Elincia would often tell you: we shall always remain by your side. Please, thank me not. We …"

The sage paused as he searched for the appropriate term. Finding none, he decided that blunt was better than complex.

"We love you. There is no better way for me to answer your question than with those three words."

The cleansing fragrance of freshly brewed green tea filled the room.

* * *

Author's notes: Been a long while since the last update. Would like to take this time to thank Kender, who's been with me every part of this chapter – couldn't have been done without her proofreading even the smallest things. Words cannot really express my gratitude.

And Manna, too! Wow. You guys are awesome at picking out my errors. XD

Medium-lengthed chapter. The geography of Crimea and their various provinces are my own inventions. They're not canon by any means. More details will be revealed later, as I think an important aspect of fantasy writing is to generate some semblence of a world.

There are also a couple of expys present as extremely minor characters. However, one is named after a particular friend whose birthday is coming up, and I thought it was appropriate to borrow from her personality. The other...well, see for yourself.

As always, critiques, comments, and discussions welcome! Thank you for reading.


	4. Part III: Nightmare Incarnate

Pre-author's note: On my livejournal, the Archives of Melior, there is a copy of this fic – except, with appropriate background music. Head over there if you would like to listen to some of it!

* * *

"It was quite thoughtful of you to bring me along, General Geoffrey." Bedivere commented as he trudged behind the commander of the Royal Knights, his torch spluttering with each step. Even in peacetime, a knight such as he could never be too comfortable. Threats, visible or not, always lurked on the horizon.

_I can only wonder if these newer Royal Knights are up to the task. _

…If, indeed, the organizations were different in the first place. The two chivalric orders shared a somewhat friendly rivalry in the sense that they both followed the same ideals. However, all semblance of similarity ended there. The paladins of the Isle numbered only one hundred and fifty at any given moment, but the Royal Knights deployed in the thousands. While members of the Order were content with their quiet monastic life, the cavaliers of the Royal Knights had much livelier days.

Even the armor worn by the two orders was distinctly different. Lightly armored by comparison, the Royal Knight's garb generally consisted of a chestplate, tasset, and shoulder guards. They were much more colorful in that regard – a casual glance from trained eyes would tell the viewer the knight's rank and origins, based on the provincial style. The knights from Delbray, for example, favored dangling twin ribbons instead of a plume from their helms. There was a story associated with it, supposedly, but Bedivere couldn't remember what it was.

"Of course. Sir Bedivere. Perhaps you could assess our training regimen." The other silver knight nodded as he passed a rank of regulars. "Camlann's training is fabled to be stricter than the Mad King's own elite guard, and these recruits could definitely benefit from some of that."

Strictly speaking, the Order was not a military force. They lacked the logistics and numbers that could be fielded in an actual war. When Crimea was invaded by its neighbor years ago, the Order lost most of its members during the initial engagement. Bedivere's troops, though cased from head to toe in the enchanted silver mail that the Isle was famous for, were nonetheless overrun by Ashnard's intelligent use of combined tactics…

"I was hoping for a demonstration of some of the more advanced techniques with the shorter weapons, especially techniques that pertained to fighting while dismounted…"

A neat line of torches greeted the pair as they turned. Near the end of the castle walls, a large stretch of clear fields marked the Royal Knight's training grounds. The heavily trampled grass barely waved in the night wind as a red armored knight marched forward.

"General Geoffrey! Crimean Royal Knight, Second Commander _the_ Sir Kieran the Fearless and Invincible reporting for duty, sir!" A loud, blustery voice called out to them as Kieran proudly stuck his chest out, his crimson hair poking out from beneath his full helm. "We are ready for hell, sir! Whether it be running a hundred and twenty miles around the castle or diving naked into a pool full of man-eating sharks, the Royal Knights are ready! We are -"

_Is this man … sane? _Bedivere raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the newcomer curiously.

"At ease, Kieran." Geoffrey hurriedly answered, cutting off the knight's eager response. The knight's eagerness scared him on occasions – this particular occasion being one of them. He hoped that Kieran had enough common sense to…

"Sir Bedivere! Such an honor! Are you here to –"Cutting himself off in mid-sentence, Kieran's expression suddenly brightened. "Ah! My fame (second only to you, of course, General!) must be such that even the great Master of the Isle would like a bout or three with me, the loyal servant of our queen! Oh, happy day! You, sir, wait right here. I'll go fetch my weapon!"

The knight dashed toward the armory with an astonishing speed, leaving a very surprised Bedivere and a rather embarrassed Geoffrey standing before a rank of silent recruits.

"Sir Bedivere, many apologies. This is my second in command, Kieran. Kieran is rather …" Geoffrey paused, searching for an appropriate word. Kieran was a good friend, and he didn't want to speak of his subordinate disparagingly. "…Excitable. Allow me to call him back."

"No, leave him be. A knight of the Isle never refuses a challenge, direct or indirect." Amused, the silver knight held out a gloved hand. "I'll give him a round or 'three.' I don't have my usual weapon with me, however, so do not expect me to perform to my usual ability. Have you a standard mace to lend, General Geoffrey?"

The paladin's gauntlet fell with a crash to the ground.

"Surely you cannot be serious! A bout in the night? None of our weapons are blunted – what if you…" Geoffrey gawked at Bedivere's response. Nonetheless, after a few rapid inquiries from the men nearby, he gave Bedivere what he was looking for. The weapon was crudely made. Its steel head was rusting, but the crisscrossed emblem of Crimea could still be seen clearly.

The paladin lightly tossed the mace from one hand to the other, testing its balance.

"Relax, general. You forget that I fight defensively. No harm will come to me tonight." Bedivere answered, his white cape billowing slightly in the night wind. He could just make out the small red speck running toward him, a very large object in his hand.

"It's not your head I'm worried about, it's Kieran's." A dark smile crept onto Geoffrey's face. Chuckling sardonically, he moved to the sidelines, clearing a space for the paladin. "You have at least a good ten years head start. Go easy on him, will you? He's a good knight."

"Look! Sir Bedivere. I even got out my good axe!" Huffing, Kieran returned to the field. His prized silver axe glowed in the moonlight as he caught his breath and easily shouldered it with one hand. "She's a beauty, isn't it? I call her Victoria!"

The condition of the blade was excellent – even surpassing some of the display blades Bedivere had back in Camlann. He could only wonder how many hours Kieran spent polishing that axe.

"You take good care of your weapon, sir knight!" Bedivere answered, noticing Kieran's care in handling the weapon. From where he was standing at, "Victoria" looked just like any other silver axe. "Her" edge was a little broader, perhaps, but that was it.

_A knight who takes good care of his weapon is to be respected. _Bedivere mused, twirling the mace in his hand expertly as he strode forward. "Come, then! Are you prepared?"

"As ever! I am Royal Crimean Knight, Sir Kieran the mightily fearless! All shall fear my axe!"

"The rest of you, watch closely! Learn from this experience!" The knight commander shouted as the recruits scurried off to the sidelines, giving the two veterans space to maneuver.

Like a thunderclap, the two knights met in the center of the clearing. Bedivere lashed out first, his mace hooking around to the left side.

_If I read his movements right, he should be coming from …_

Kieran answered with a large overhand slash, which sailed harmlessly over his right flank. The paladin's eyes narrowed.

_There. _

It was a classical trick – against axe users, the weight of their weapon prevented them from fighting defensively. While Bedivere's mace had a significantly shorter reach, the precision and speed of his attacks were more than enough to overcome its weakness – especially in close quarters such as this.

Sidestepping easily, Bedivere smashed downward with his mace-hand. He had dispatched many a foe with such a simple opening move. It was a little cheap for his liking, but he -

Suddenly, he sound of metal striking metal rang out in the courtyard as Kieran brought his axe up, blocking the elder knight's strike. The red armored knight rolled backwards, flipping back to his feet and putting some distance between him and his opponent.

_Not bad! Not bad at all. _Bedivere thought as he leapt a step back, a little surprised. Perhaps this young man was more than he had given him credit for… but how –

Wait.

_The posture…that explained it. _

Kieran was holding it with a single hand. Usually, the silver axes were forged with a specific alloy – some sort of silver derivative, which gave the weapon its name. While it made the weapon heavier, it also gave the axe a considerably sharper edge, allowing the user to cut through steel and flesh with ease. For Kieran to be able to wield something like that – either the axe was a fake, or he was exceptionally powerful.

One look at the mark it left on the ground, though, and Bedivere's mind immediately shifted to the second option.

"Good work, sir knight." he muttered, newfound respect creeping into his voice. "You have trained hard – an opponent worthy of my full attention."

"Heck, you almost got me!" Kieran answered, a grin creeping onto his face as he charged forward, hoping to press the other knight back. "Victoria's not going to let me lose this early – not even to a knight like you!"

Yelling a battlecry, the second commander hefted his axe as he and the paladin from the Isle exchanged blows…

* * *

_O Holy One, Grant your stewardess wisdom, patience, kindness, mercy, and resolve, so she may have an understanding heart to judge your people…_

The newly risen sun turned its face on the young Queen of Crimea as she knelt on Palace Melior's cold marble floor. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel its warmth on her cheeks. For Elincia, though Crimea was not a theocracy, she still took her faith very seriously.

She prayed for all the things that were necessary for her to be a good queen. Prayer was a common morning ritual and an integral part of her life. All for the sake of her land and her subjects - she only wanted to give them the brightest future she could possibly offer. The queen, however, understood that no matter what her dreams were, she'd have to build them with her own hands. That was why she still attended the court gatherings diligently – never missing a single meeting no matter how small the occasion. It never hurt, however, to request aid from another source.

As the sole ruler of Crimea, she was simultaneously the political, military and spiritual leader of her people. A heavy burden, yet she performed remarkably well despite her inexperience. While Elincia had not wrought any miracles since she took the reins of leadership, even the least superstitious members of her court believed in her potential and felt that it was only a matter of time before her "latent powers" came into full bloom.

Supposedly, the bloodline of Ridell carried a power to influence their land and subject's well-being. Over time, as they rule, a number of powerful national-wide enchantments, termed "gifts" would be awakened.

Of these, the most powerful was probably the gift of life. The loremasters said that orchids would bloom at her presence, and crops yielded twice their normal bounty even if she just walked by. Rumors were that poverty and strife would leave the land, ushering in a golden age so long as the queen herself lived. Still others said that with such powerful magic at her disposal, it was possible for the queen to restore life itself to the land, reviving wilted flowers to life with a single touch. Some whispered that she could, perhaps, even bring back the fallen back to this world.

Already, people whispered. Perhaps Queen Elincia would be the one. Why not? They asked. She did everything they did – she was in touch with the people. She knew their troubles, they said. And she was as good of a ruler as Good King Ramon. She was one of the heroes who went with General Ike to save their homes and businesses and the whole continent. She was beautiful, kind, merciful … everything that the ancient tales said their legendary queen was supposed to be.

While Elincia dismissed the fanciful tales – after all, she had never heard her parents or uncle mention these powers at all - she was nonetheless amused by it. Her people's faith in her abilities only made the young queen more thankful. She hoped that Crimea would continue to flourish beneath her rule.

…_Thank you, Holy One, for watching over us. _

Opening her eyes, Elincia smiled. The morning was windy – but she didn't mind. The breeze felt good on her bare skin.

At first, the nobles were a little surprised at the sight of her hanging about court– many of them had thought her too spoiled, naïve and innocent to govern effectively. In fact, a few still did. But opinions were changing. Slowly, but surely.

"Geoffrey, Lucia, Bastian… My loyal advisors and uncle Renning... Be blessed."

With a quiet whisper, she turned from the railing. The nobles handled the day-to-day affairs of the countryside, pausing only to ask for her permission for this and that. The feuding between the provinces had largely subsided, leaving only minor arguments that were easily settled through more civic disputes. No more house-wars that required the actions of the royal knights. Though bandits still occasionally wandered the countryside, the Order of Radiance and her own Royal Knights kept the roads mostly clear. For travelers, Crimea was a safer place than anywhere else.

Lucia controlled the intelligence network and resumed her old duties as the queen's eyes and ears. She fought alongside her brother and acted as a commander whenever it was necessary – that is, if he was not hanging around his sister's side, worrying about her well-being.

"I'm your bodyguard," the azure-haired young woman would answer in a tense voice whenever Elincia wished for her to take a rest. "If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself."

_She was always hard on herself. Too hard._

In truth, Lucia worried her – something was different about her. It felt as if she was trying to distance herself from everyone she knew and loved. Something had happened. She just knew it.

That harrowing night – after Lucia's miraculous rescue, she could still remember …

Memories floated into the forefront of her mind.

* * *

Elincia breathed deeply as she closed the door to her bedchambers. Lucia was unconscious for the entire day – the strains of her imprisonment had finally taken its toll. After her milk-sister's near-death experience, she wanted nothing more than to be with her. Even a little while would be enough before duty called both of them away.

The queen's bedroom was dimly lit with a single candle. Its flame flickered, though there was no wind. The warm light seeped into the far recesses of the dainty chamber, casting its warm glow on the bed – and the young woman lying on it.

She carefully sat down and watched her friend sleep, the familiar act reminding Elincia of her younger days. When she was but a small child, she had nightmares frequently. Lucia was the one who dispelled those for her – simply by virtue of being there at her side.

"Sleep easy, Elincia." She would whisper to her with a small smile on her face. "I'll stay up and keep the bad dreams away."

So she would speak, and Elincia would doze off, the dreams plaguing her no longer. Many nights passed like that…

Yet that night, it was different. No matter how she tried, she couldn't do what Lucia did for her. She couldn't drive back the phantasms that haunted Lucia's dreams.

Merely hours ago, she stood on top of Fortress Alpea and watched Ludveck's remnants beat Lucia within an inch of her life. It was not enough that she was to be hanged. No. Ludveck had left explicit instructions that she was to be broken before her very eyes in an attempt to make the young queen capitulate to his demands.

"_The rule of Crimea cannot be kept in your hands! Please, Your Majesty! You must abdicate and cede the crown to me!"_

His plan didn't work. Lucia kept silent for most of the three-hour long ordeal. She didn't beg for mercy, scream, or "give them a show," as they had wanted. Not a single whimper escaped from her lips as she endured silently. Only her eyes – and the brief flash of agony as each pummeling strike dug into her flesh, marring her skin – gave the tormented queen a small hint of what she was going through.

_Don't give in. Elincia. _Those eyes said. _Don't give in to them. It'll be over soon. _

The queen stood alone. Geoffrey had long since retreated to the armory below, where she could hear him sharpen his spear with a mad fervor. Kieran and Marcia were watching him to make sure the knight commander didn't sortie out in a solo mad charge. She understood his anguished feelings well – were she in his place, there was no way she could watch the torture below and do nothing about it.

It was difficult to guess who was closer to Lucia, but the siblings' shared bond only rivaled her own. And Geoffrey…how hard was it, to see his own beloved sister being treated like that, out there?

"Your majesty…" the knight snarled, baring his teeth. Elincia could see his knuckles turn white as he gripped his weapon, taking a haphazard step towards the wall. "You…you…you have to let me do something about this."

"First Commander Geoffrey, don't throw your life away, sir!" Kieran interjected in a moment of unusual clarity. Hastily grabbing his superior's shoulder, the red armored knight flipped Geoffrey around forcefully, wheeling the knight towards the armory downstairs. "You only get one life! Or, I guess, depending on your religious affiliation, several! Either way, it's a finite number, so please think it through!"

Geoffrey growled in disgust as he stomped down the stairs. Marcia tossed Kieran an appreciative glance as they hurriedly followed, leaving Elincia standing alone on top of the parapets.

She wanted to retreat as well, but couldn't. For her sake – she couldn't leave Lucia there to suffer alone, especially when … She was the reason why she was in that compromising position in the first place…

Elincia wanted to scream. She wanted to turn her face away – the sight of Lucia's broken form, her body shaking uncontrollably at each strike was too much for her heart to bear. A simple word, a single command was all she needed to get them to stop hurting her.

_Stop. _Ludveck's honeyed voice, dripping with venom, taunted her. _One little word. That's all you need. We can work something out, couldn't we?_

But no, she couldn't. Lucia was right. To give in now would render Geoffrey and her planning meaningless. They had fought so hard for a unified Crimea … she couldn't give up now. To give in to the duke's demand would mean that Lucia had suffered for nothing. And to give in, was to give in on Crimea itself. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

But the right choice … why did it hurt so much? She could only watch helplessly as they continued. When Lucia could no longer stand on her own, they strapped her to a pole and continued. Her aquamarine eyes, now glazed and dull from so much abuse, nonetheless held a trace of warmth.

Their eyes met. Lucia's cracked lips parted, forming inaudible sounds. If she stared hard enough…she could just make out her mouthed words.

_Elincia, sister. Be strong. I…I'll be alright. _

Suddenly, one of the halberdiers gave a loud cry as he dropped his whip in disgust.

"Enough!" the man shouted as he tore off his helmet, tossing it aside to reveal a mane of dark blue hair. "We of the Fianna can tolerate this no longer! For three hours… Three bruised, bloodstained hours we have done this. Her blood today shall be on our hands!"

"You shame our band by directly disobeying an order." Another, higher ranked warrior called out as he gestured angrily. "Have you forgotten your vows as a servant to our lord? Pick up that whip."

"Better an oath breaker than a man who, so blinded by his own honor, cannot see right from wrong!" Snapping, the halberdier walked off the hangman's platform. The crowd was dead silent.

To Elincia, however, none of that mattered. She was too preoccupied with Lucia's whisper to her. _Be strong_, she said.

_Lucia…I'm … I'll be strong…_

What else could she say? Under the flickering flame, Elincia could only sigh as Lucia turned in her troubled sleep, her blanket slipping off her shoulders as she moved haphazardly.

Was she reliving the events a few hours ago? The pain she had felt, the despairing hopelessness…was that what plagued her mind? Or…was there something more?

Elincia hurriedly leaned over. She'd watch Lucia sleep - for the whole night if she had to. She wanted to be the first one to see her wake up. She wanted to tell her all the things that she wanted to say, but couldn't at the time.

Her outstretched hand paused in mid-air as she noticed something.

Then, the candle's flame shook violently as she realized why Rhys and Mist wouldn't let her near Lucia earlier. She knew Lucia was …

_Oh, Goddess…What else did they do to you?_ She thought as she watched Lucia helplessly. Biting back tears, Elincia reached out and gently caressed her foster sibling's hair as she gently uncovered the rest of the swordmistress' body. What she saw horrified her.

Her entire body was littered with bruises and marks, large and small. From her shoulders to her inner thighs, front to back … she could hardly find an unblemished part anywhere. Some wounds looked old, while others were fresh.

A part of Elincia had always suspected it, but she didn't want it to be true. Now, she was certain. The public beating was not the only abuse that Lucia had suffered in Ludveck's hands.

_I…I'm sorry. I …_

Clenching her fists uselessly, the young queen sniffed as a tear dropped onto her milk-sister's bare skin. She was supposed to be strong… for her. But the tears wouldn't stop flowing.

_I let you down, didn't I? I couldn't keep you safe from harm…_

"…Elincia?"

Lucia's weak query made her jump. Her voice was serene and calm, tinged with sadness; but there was a spark of life within them. The swordmistress' eyes brightened slightly as she saw the queen's face. She was awake, now.

Elincia could only nod as she gulped, a sorrowful whimper escaping from her throat. She didn't expect Lucia to wake up now – she thought she could shed her tears in private. If there was one thing she absolutely hated, it was spreading her sorrows with the others. But no, after all – she was closer to Lucia than anyone else in the world. Twelve years ago, underneath Delbray Castle's old peach tree, they vowed to laugh and cry together, sharing in each other's fears, hopes, and dreams.

_It doesn't matter if we aren't related by blood, Elincia. You're my dear, beloved sister..._

Indeed. The bond between the two of them was stronger than most blood sisters.

"Lucia, I…."

She paused. It was impossible to articulate her feelings. Lucia's eyes were calm. They reminded her of the smooth waters of the lake. There was neither no blame nor no harsh feelings in those eyes - only sisterly love and understanding.

_Lucia…_

"Don't cry, Elincia…I'm … fine…" Raising her limp hand with great effort, Lucia tenderly stroked Elincia's face.

Her smile was a little forced amidst her tears, but she must have thought that Elincia wouldn't notice. Still, the feelings behind them were genuine.

"I did come back …in one piece…"

Together, their tears fell. There was nothing else that needed to be said.

* * *

With a heavy cloak in hand, Geoffrey sighed as he climbed the stairs that would take him to the balcony where Queen Elincia was standing. He had seen her from below, during his morning rounds.

_That dress is not going to keep the winds at bay,_ he thought as he dashed back to the barracks. _She's almost guaranteed to catch a cold._

He quickened his footsteps. Only a dozen or so more.

The bout had to be called off – Kieran had gone over four hundred exchanges with Bedivere, with neither gaining the upper hand. Truth be told, he was surprised at Kieran's resilience, but the matter still remained that Bedivere had a number of lethal tricks up his sleeve. The Master of the Isle was not a fickle man, but his ego…

Geoffrey sighed. It was better for him to not dwell on the subject. On top of everything else, the night exercise had gone badly – more than half of the new knights failed abysmally. Out of the twenty he was training, only three hit their marks. These were supposed to be the finest of his youngest trainees, too…

A sorry tale to tell, and the thought of the guard becoming increasingly incompetent plagued his mind. At least Bedivere was sympathetic – though he could never read what that man was thinking.

Preoccupied with the Queen's health and well-being, the knight had not noticed how lovely she appeared to be this morning until now. Her olive-green hair loosely falling down her back, blowing ever so gently in the wind, and her white dress fairly shimmered, its loose fabric playfully whipping her well-toned legs.

Geoffrey paused, taking in the sight. With a beautiful lady before him, and all of Melior below, the sight was truly breathtaking. He could die here, really, and be happy.

_How beautiful…and how unfortunate, that our time together now will never be as it once was?_

He breathed deeply, calming himself.

_Oh, lovely Elincia. Hold, my heart, and be still - your destiny is to admire her from afar…_

The sight of her standing there, looking as carefree as ever brought back fond memories.

"…_She is only the loveliest, most perfect person on the planet. Brother. I've heard this already. She - Honestly, if you like her so much, you should try approaching her instead of stewing in your misery…" Lucia, exasperated with her younger sibling, chided him in response. Apparently, his love for Elincia was poorly hidden – even at the tender age of fifteen, his sister saw right through him. _

"_Elincia's not as girly as you think. Honestly, I should know…Take her to climb trees or shoot birds or something. She'd like it. Seriously, be a man."_

"_But, but …" he stammered. "It's improper…"_

"_Hypocrite." His sister tossed him a glare that could freeze water as she poked some sort of curious machinery before her. "So Bastian can drag me along on his wild hunts for new plant specimen inside the woods filled with Goddess-knows-what and that's "proper." You going off with Elincia for a walk in the manor and all of a sudden that's supposed to be "improper-"_

"_Lady Lucia! Have you the micropress ready? Time is free, but priceless at the same time! We cannot own time, for it is –"_

"_Sheesh, Bastian. Shut up for a moment. I'm coming."_

Like time itself, the memory faded away. Those days spent in the country manors of Crimea were probably the best days of his life. Elincia was a princess, of course, but Lord Renning was going to take the throne. She was free to cultivate her relationships and find her true love. He, on the other hand, was free to pursue – she was not so far out of reach. As the only son of a noble house, he became a knight. The thought of Elincia's love fueled his dedication to the chivalric order as the young Delbray cavalier quickly rose through the ranks, becoming knight-commander at the age of twenty-two.

Then, Ashnard made his move. Daein's sudden invasion of Crimea resulted in the death of Elincia's parents, leaving the young princess as the sole remaining survivor of the royal family. Before they knew it, they were embroiled in a massive war, where the fate of the continent itself hung in the balance. As nobility, their primary duty was to Crimea itself – for their homeland, everything else must come second. And so, the budding romance was smothered in the smokes and flames of war, never having a chance to bloom.

"Geoffrey?"

Elincia's voice snapped him out of his reverie. She looked a little flustered, but she was smiling at him. _Quickly,_ his mind scolded. _Greet her good morning!_

"Uh…"

Mechanically, the knight held out the cape towards her. Whatever greetings he had in mind vaporized like the morning dew at the sight of her smile.

"…Thank you, Geoffrey." She blushed, wrapping the heavy fabric around her bare shoulders. "I…I meant to ask, what brought you up here so early?"

Immediately, the knight tensed. That reminded him… he needed to talk to her. She was the queen. It wasn't safe for her to be wandering about exposed.

"Queen Elincia," he began. "I…ah, I was on rounds when I noticed you standing out here, and thought…well, I…"

Cursing himself for not having Bastian's ability with words, the knight tried to articulate his thoughts. As Elincia looked at him with curiosity on her face, he could feel his cheeks heating up.

"Ah…"

_Focus, Geoffrey, focus. Remember her safety. _The thought sent a burst of energy through his mind as it suddenly cleared.

"My queen, it isn't safe for you to be walking around without any guards. Where is Lucia?"

"Lucia is sleeping. The poor girl looked like she was going to pass out on her feet." Elincia answered, a little bit of confusion creeping onto her face. "So I told her that I'd be fine on my own, really. This is …Melior. Nothing's going to happen to me here."

"Your majesty, you don't understand." The knight sighed as he rubbed his forehead. "You're our queen – our ruler. There are still plenty of malcontents out there who'd be more than happy to see you dead."

"Geoffrey, don't be silly. The Royal Knights patrol the palace grounds at all times diligently. No one's getting pass them –or you, for that matter."

Somehow, her laughter was infuriating to him. How he wished she could understand what he meant – danger could be right around the corner. How could she not see that?

"My queen, you are still unaware of my message. Anyone here could be a threat to you – the Royal Knights can't be everywhere at once. So it would be unwise of you to wander around without protection of some sort." He tried to explain as he gestured helplessly with his hands. He had a long, sleepless and fruitless night, and he was really in no mood for small talk like this. They went over this many, many times. Though the noble houses themselves respected Elincia greatly, there were always a few – a few with enough power in their hands to cause some serious harm - in each province who were more than eager to get rid of her.

"So? I have you at my side. Is that not enough?"

Damn it! She still didn't understand. Could she not see his frustration?

"Could you be at least responsible enough to care for your own safety?"Icily, the knight replied. The comment was true. If only she was not prone to wander around the palace so much, he'd have a much easier time keeping her safe. Admittedly, with Lucia on the job, the chance of a threat appearing in Palace Melior was pretty much nonexistent, but still, he had to make the point…

"Geoffrey, lighten up, you're over-reacting on such a beautiful morning." He couldn't tell what she was thinking, but her voice was barely above a whisper, and her green eyes flashed with … something. Was she hurt by his words? He couldn't tell.

"No, I'm not," muttered the knight. He could literally feel the tension building between them, and he hated it. But it was all for her own good – and if he had to be harsh, then that was the sacrifice he had to make. "It never hurts to be careful. After all, princesses do tend to land themselves in trouble because of their simple-heartedness."

Immediately, he regretted making the remark. His heart felt like it was stabbed as Elincia winced at the verbal blow. The knight also realized that he was being a little unfair – Elincia, while not quite at the caliber of masters like Lucia, Zihark or the now-disappeared Ike, was getting quite good at swordplay. Her diligent practice with sword and staff made her a formidable opponent, and the fact that Amiti naturally warned its user of ill-intent by projecting an aura into the room only weakened his argument.

_She could probably take care of herself._ The voice in his head gently nudged him. _Why not drop the topic, admit you're wrong, and enjoy the morning with her?_

_Because I love her, h_e shouted back. _And I'll never forgive myself if anything happened to her._

"Unlike the princesses in Bastian's stories, I can take care of myself, you know?" A hint of sarcasm crept into her voice as Elincia, evidently hurt, indignantly replied. "It's not like there's an assassin behind every corner wanting me dead at every opportunity..."

He had enough. Between the ill-fated practices, Elincia's seemingly obliviousness to his own worries, and his own pent-up emotions, he had had enough.

"What if I wanted you dead, then? My queen, have you thought of that?"

Dead silence greeted him.

He didn't mean that. He wanted to take the comment back. That was not how it was supposed to come out! He –

Elincia said nothing. Standing before him, she was like a statue – only the faintest tremor told him that she was still a living being. Amiti glinted in the morning sun, its harsh glare reminding the knight of his error. Elincia was hurting in a way that she had never felt before.

"Then, I will die, Geoffrey, as simple as that," she quietly answered, her expression perfectly calm. Still, as she turned to look at him, the pain in her eyes was nothing in comparison to the pain in her voice or her heart.

"My queen, that's not what I meant! I…"

Geoffrey paused in mid-sentence as he struggled to explain. One look in his queen's downcast eyes, however, and he intuitively knew: no words of consolation could ease her agony. And it was his fault.

_Is that all I am to you?_ _A responsibility? _Those green eyes said as they stared into his soul, sharing, for a brief moment, her heartache. _Am I still just a burden?_

"I…"

He had nothing to say. Except that he was sorry. Truly, he was. He wanted to take it back and tell her what he really meant. _I love you. I'm sorry. Please forgive me._

Yet, despite his best efforts, the word never left his lips. For him, the silence was a weakness – a hole in his armor.

For her, it was an eternity of anguish. She had to say something, now, or else she'd lose her composure. Taking a deep breath, Elincia spoke quietly to her cavalier.

"It is just as well. I …Geoffrey, do as you wish. I will not stop you. After all, despite …that …" Turning her face away from him, the queen sighed. The sight of her struggling to speak was heartbreaking to see.

"…"

"After all this time…you still can't address me …by name."

"…!"

With her eyes closed, Elincia lightly brushed past him and disappeared down the hallway.

* * *

_After all this time…you still can't address me by name…_

Her final words rang in Geoffrey's ears.

_Good day, Geoffrey._

"I'm sorry…" The knight sank to his knees as he collapsed helplessly onto the stony floor, faintly aware of the sounds of clinking armor. He had hurt her in the worst imaginable way. Physical wounds could be healed with staff and medicine, but this?

What was he supposed to do? What could he do?

_I will be your burden no longer…_

Something was in his eye. Raising a hand to brush it aside, the knight slowly stood back up.

_Elincia, I'm sorry. I really am. Please, forgive me. I.._

It was no good if he just sat here, thinking. He'd get help. Staggering downstairs, the knight searched for his sister.

Lucia would know what to do. Or Bastian. Or, Goddess damn it, maybe even Kieran knew something about this thing. At this point, he was desperate.

Anything … anything! The sight of Elincia, so heartbroken … that hurt him more than any wounds he had suffered on the battlefield.

* * *

Geoffrey did not know it, but ironically, what he wanted to win through chivalric valor had long been his. Elincia never cared for titles or gifts. She just wanted someone who cared. That, he had given her without realizing it.

Countless times, he had protected her. It wasn't because she was queen or princess – it was just because she was _Elincia._ When she grew weary from the constant fighting, he would comfort her. When she felt dejected, he would be there to cheer her up.

"Princess Elincia, if only you would know of his fluttering, passionate heart…" Bastian muttered, unwilling to give her any more details. Still, she knew. He was every bit the perfect cavalier – and in her mind, she wanted no one else but Geoffrey.

Yet…

_Is that it, Geoffrey? I'll never be anything more to you than your queen now? Am I such a burden?_

Something had happened during the past three years. It was as if he was actively trying to distance himself from her.

She wanted to cry. She wanted some way to express her anguish. But no, not today. Today, she had to meet with the dignitaries from Daein. Once again, she had to wear the queenly mask.

_Is this what it means to be a queen? _She asked herself, silently. _Is this what I really wanted?_

_No, _her voice replied. _But you're queen now, and that's how you will be. _

She stared at the sad-looking young woman in front of her mirror and started brushing her hair, noticing that there was a faint line of … something, running down her cheeks.

* * *

"Easy there, partner. We'll be home in a bit." Haar patted his wyvern as he yawned. "You know how to navigate from this part on, eh?"

A roar of affirmation greeted the Dragonlord as his mount twisted sharply, taking a route that would take them directly into the skies of Crimea.

"Alrighty then. Nap time. Wake me if something happens along the way."

Soon, the one-eyed man was dozing contently in his saddle.

_Hrrrrftftft. Two nap already not enough? _The wyvern snorted and shook its head. It had never really understood its master's penchant for napping randomly, though it wasn't about to complain. _Maybe Master should spend night sleeping and not –_

_Oh well, Master Haar know what he doing, _it thought as it circled into the clouds, adamant on dispelling its bad thought. To be honest, it was glad that the two were wed – it was beginning to worry about Haar's ability to approach women…How else was its master supposed to bring it his son or daughter to continue the family tradition?

The wind buffeted into its hardened black scales. Flying upwind made it work a little harder, but it was well worth the effort. Straining against the elements – was that not what they did as unparalleled masters of the skies? Let the flimsy pegasus knights whimper at the weather!

Wyverns lived for hundreds of years, if not longer – unless they were killed in battle, of course. For a military creature such as Gilgamesh, it would like nothing better than to serve a good house, worthy of its strength…

Listening to the man above it snore, the wyvern suppressed a yawn of its own. At least one of them had to stay conscious – even though the flight was dreadfully dull. This part of Crimea had nothing – no tasty snacks to distract it from the boredom, no thunderstorms to be constantly on the alert for. Heck, there wasn't anything living within a hundred miles of where they were at.

Diving back below the clouds, the wyvern breathed deeply as the wind changed directions. It could see Melior from here … perhaps it should wake Master Haar…

_Sniff. _

Wait. Something wasn't right. It smelled something.

_Wyvern!!_

It could smell the sweat and steel and … something leatherbound, faintly pulsing with power.

_Book? _

Confused, Gilgamesh craned its neck as it slowed down temporarily. Sure enough, there were a line of other wyvern riders, flying in a straight V formation. Its eyes couldn't discern the colors very well at this distance, but they were definitely following Master Haar. Its hunter's instinct told it that much.

The wyvern started to twist and turn, hoping to jostle its rider to awareness. All the while, it watched in alarm at the newcomers as they began to pick up speed. The four riders were armed and armored similarly – some sort of shade of silver or grey, it couldn't tell. The smell though, reminded it of those apple-eating hairbags…

That wasn't good. The pegasus knights were a lot smarter than it was – it needed Master Haar to take care of the situation here!

"Murr…Jill…five more minutes…Zzzz…."

Irritated, it rolled in the air. How could he be _asleep _when something like this was happening?

No luck. The Dragonlord was still asleep.

"Grraaaaarrgh!" Roaring in frustration, the wyvern flew toward the nearest clump clouds, hoping to lose its pursuers there. _Stupid Master! Wake up!_

A crackling bolt of thunder narrowly missed the pair, missing the wyvern's wings by a few feet. The tingling sensation was unpleasantly familiar on its skin.

"Hrnn-huh? What's going on –" Haar's sleepy murmur was interrupt by another blast, arcing wide over their heads. Opening his good eye lazily, the Dragonmaster surveyed the surroundings calmly. "Say, partner. You didn't eat any livestock, or, Goddess forbid, villagers while I was napping, did you?"

Gilgamesh flashed its master a dirty look.

"Alright! Alright. Geez. Sorry. How long have they been raising that racket? An hour? Ten minutes?"

The wyvern swooped rapidly as it dodged another bolt, growling something in response. By now, the riders were close enough that Haar could make out the Crimean colors of his pursuers.

It felt a little better, though, knowing that the Dragonlord was awake and alert.

* * *

A few hundred miles away from Haar's dilemma, a small contingent of riders travelled slowly on the main road. Twin banners, bearing Daein's royal crest fluttered in the breeze as the head rider paused, staring at the long, snaking road ahead.

"How many days until we reach the capitol, General Tauroneo?"

"A few days at most, Lord Pelleas." The general replied, twirling his moustache. "Though a storm is quickly gathering – it may delay our plans."

"We can slow our pace if necessary, general." Pelleas answered, checking his horse as he slowed down slightly. "You decide."

The general nodded as he quickly rode off, spreading an order down the ranks.

* * *

"Dragon Knight of Daein! You are hereby trespassing on her Royal Majesty Elincia Ridell Crimea's skies! Surrender your missive at once!"

One of the Crimean riders leveled her weapon – a thunder tome, by the looks of it – at the lone black rider in the midday sky.

Haar wasn't particularly impressed.

"A bit late for surrendering, isn't it?" He answered dryly. "You knights were the first ones who were attacking us…"

"Dragon Knight of Daein. You have one chance before we take you under our custody. Surrender now, and we'll let you live."

The other wyvern riders began to fall back slightly as the rider with the thunder tome gestured with her hand. Haar tensed.

"I doubt that."

With a deafening shriek, his wyvern immediately dived below the group, veering slightly as it dodged the Crimeans.

"Surrender to you? With that get-up, you never had any intentions to let me live in the first place." the one-eyed rider muttered as he grabbed his reins tightly. His position wasn't as good as he'd liked, and given the current circumstances, he would rather turn tail and run.

_How did these creeps know I was carrying a message?_

The distinct sound of beating wings told him that the Crimeans had indeed begun their pursuit. The chase was on. Sparing a quick glance behind him, Haar quickly steered his wyvern, calmly grasping the long-handed axe that was strapped securely to the back of the saddle.

_Ah, well. Gil could use the exercise… Let's see how well they could keep up.

* * *

_

Bastian was daydreaming.

_Show me a vision, my muse._ He whispered quietly to himself as he stretched out lazily, watching the blue-haired woman sleep in the room across from his. All the weariness left him at the sight of her – and to think that she would stay a night there, with him…

The two had stayed up for quite some time, chatting aimlessly. He would have gone on longer, too, but out of concern for her, he held himself in check. Of course, the topic that weighed heavily in both of their minds – the status of their current relationship – was not touched at all.

To be fair, it was something hard to approach in the first place. As suave and charming as Bastian was, he had little actual experience with women. The Count of Fayre had only one person in his mind: Lucia. To him, all the other flowers in the bouquet were beautiful in their own right, but not for for him. It was a little surprising, therefore, that she suddenly stopped rejecting his advances altogether.

She wasn't really taking them, either, but at least it was better than before. He wished he could read Lucia a little better. The sage had a talent at intuitively understanding people. To him, their fears, concerns, motivations – all of those things are quite visible to his eye at a glance. Yet for Lucia, there were still areas that eluded him. She was …

_Mm, better not to dwell too much, lest the passion dim and thought diminish. _The sage told himself as he closed his eyes contently.

It was then he noticed muffled sounds coming from outside of his door. _Blasted cavaliers. A most wondrous pity that they could not drink more responsibly._

"Oy, rascals! The hour is late! Could you not see –" Bastian threw the door open as he poked his head out of the doorframe. "See…"

His voice suddenly died as he realized what he was seeing.

If this was Palace Melior, then it …No! It couldn't – what was going on?!

He now found himself in the battlements that lead to one of the castle balconies. Silver-armored corpses littered the ground haphazardly, their bodies torn beyond all recognition by something. Deep gash marks lined the floors, scratching deeply into the stonework. Here and there, a chunk was missing from the wall. It was utter carnage.

The sickening smell of blood permeated the air. Bastian felt his heart skip a beat as he looked around hopelessly. Where was he? _Where was he?_

Suddenly, a knight limped into the hallway. Much of her armor was blasted away, showing bits of charred flesh beneath. A thin trickle of blood ran down her mouth as she inched forward, dragging her lance behind her.

"Lady Knight! What…what happened? Where is the -"

"Queen…Elincia…" A mutter escaped from her throat as she took another step before collapsing, her body going _through_ him as it hit the floor with a small thud. "…Flee."

Bastian gave a surprised yelp as he leapt backwards, completely unnerved. The unfocused eyes of the dying Royal Knight slowly dimmed. A second later, the sage was once again left alone in the dead palace.

Silence filled the room. The only thing Bastian could hear was the sound of his own pounding heart. He looked around wildly, desperately suppressing the flood of panic that threatened to overwhelm him.

_This is … this is absurd! This is a nightmare, isn't it?_

But it was not… he could smell it, feel it, touch it…this was all too real…too real.

_Calm, Bastian._ He told himself as he took a step forward, narrowly regaining his balance as he slipped in a puddle of some dark, slippery liquid. _Your wits are the only thing you possess at the moment. _

Taking a deep breath, the sage peered around cautiously. He had no weapons, and he still didn't know what was going on. The situation was dire, though – if this was Palace Melior, then something terrible happened…

_Thank you, General Obvious. _His mind sneered as he took another step. _Will Crimea's top tactician, the cream of the crop, continue to make such elementary observations?_ _Calm, Bastian. You may salvage the situation yet. _

Slowly, he sifted through his memories, rapidly taking in the surroundings. The situation became clearer and clearer to him as his fear-enhanced senses put together a grim, horribly nightmarish scenario.

He was in Melior; that was a certainty. This was one of the outer parapets of Palace Melior. Everything around him was dead. There were at least thirty or so bodies on the ground near him, half of which belonged to the Royal Knights, and the other half the servants and couriers of the castle. Someone – or something – had killed them indiscriminately, and try as he might, he cannot discern the tools of murder. The scorch marks resembled conventional fire magic; the deep cuts, blade or axe. The chunks torn out of the walls…

That, he couldn't explain. Worst, a small detail nagged at him. If there was a conflict, then where were the causalities from the opposition? Furthermore, who could have done this? Whatever foe they might have faced – it was far beyond any of them…

_This was just like the sudden attack on Crimea a few years ago…_

A lone horn sounded somewhere in the distance, its familiar call waking him from his reverie. _Geoffrey -The queen! _Cursing himself for his stupidity, Bastian ran toward the source of the sound.

But which way was it coming from?

The sonorous echo rang through the hallways, a cry that was neither a charge nor retreat. It was almost as if it was trying to guide him. Toward what? He didn't know.

_Damn it all. Legs. Run faster! _

As if by magic, the castle around him dissolved in a blink. He suddenly found himself before one of the large keep gates. This place, at least, was not foreign to him – the wind mages often trained along the northern towers due to a long, flat corridor that could easily be sealed by a large, enchanted block of stone. The balcony allowed easy access to the winds outside, and the mages would frequently set up targets to -

"This way, Elincia. Hurry!"

A familiar voice called out as the sound of footsteps rang in the hallway. Before he even had time to turn, Lucia ran past him, her hair swaying wildly. She was dressed in her usual swordmaster's uniform, but there were several large tears in it. Behind her, Elincia – in an evening gown – hurriedly followed.

"The pegasus – it should be here soon." Lucia shouted, pulling Elincia up as the queen stumbled, exhausted from her exertion. "Come on!"

The pair had evidently just survived some devastating skirmish. Lucia's long blade, Laevateinn, was notched in several places, and Amiti's edge was covered in black ichor. Both were breathing fairly heavily.

"My Queen! Lady Lucia! Thank the Goddess!" Joyously, the count yelled as he ran toward the pair. A dead weight had been lifted from his shoulders – they were safe!

His pace slowed as he realized once again, that he was just a ghost to them – he could sense them, but they couldn't …

…See him…

Disappointed, Bastian slowed down accordingly. Luckily, the pair was not moving particularly fast, and it was easy for him to follow them.

"Lucia, where is Geoffrey?" Elincia peered around, a hint of desperation creeping into her eyes as suddenly she stopped just behind the portcullis. "He was right behind us –"

"Queen Elincia! Go! I'll close the gates!" As if right on cue, the silver knight came into sight. Bastian's jaw dropped at the sight of him – Geoffrey looked like he had just escaped from the scrap heap.

Shakily, Geoffrey stepped forward, using his lance as support as he trudging forward at a snail's pace. A dozen or so wounds marked his badly damaged armor. "I'll –"

Before he could complete his sentence, a powerful explosion shook the castle walls. Bastian watched the three's eyes widen in shock – and fear – as something burst through the stone floors.

What was that thing? To say it was a man was not wholly correct – it was covered by something, and its arms, if they could be called that, changed forms constantly. One moment it appeared as a pair of clubs, the next, hooked tentacles. Tattered robes and royal regalia covered its torso and lower body, and its face – was that even a face underneath that dark blue mane?

Bastian shuddered and looked away. The face was wholly repulsive – agonizing to behold, and completely frightening. One moment it appeared as a malicious spirit, then the next, a faceless hole. The only consistent expression was a devious, eerily human grin. It was a swirl of motion, changing ever so slightly as it stepped forward lightly.

"I count my blessings to have "friends" such as you…" The thing muttered in a high-pitched voice. In a single bound, it had covered nearly thrice the distance of the human step. "Oh, the agony…Hee hee hee!"

Geoffrey gritted his teeth, as if deep in thought.

"So, the old dog couldn't hold him after all…" Bastian heard him murmur quietly as he looked directly into the thing's face as he raised his lance in a defense gesture.

"You. I am your opponent."

Without warning, the knight commander stopped. With the stone gate right behind him, the silver knight spared one last longing stare at the woman he loved. Bastian could see his lips curve in the faintest hint of a wistful smile as he mouthed something that was inaudible.

"Geoffrey!!" An anguished scream escaped from Elincia's throat as suddenly, Bastian realized what the silver knight was going to do.

"Elincia, no!" Lucia reached toward her, but due to fatigue, she was a moment too slow. The queen had already escaped from her grasp and was a few steps closer to her knight – and the thing that threatened them.

"Sister, keep her safe." The knight spoke quietly, not once turning back. In one smooth motion, Geoffrey slammed his lance into the gate switch. As a gigantic marble block fell between him and his queen, separating the two forevermore, the sage heard the knight's final whisper.

"Protect her … for I can do so no longer."

Bastian could only watch helplessly as Elincia fell to her knees, sobbing. He moved toward her, hoping that somehow, his ghostly presence could help to curb her pain.

"Brother…" Lucia murmured, biting back a tear of her own. "Bastian…"

His heart jumped. Did Lucia see him, at last?

"Lady Lucia! I…"

"Let's go, Elincia…Or else, his sacrifice…Count Bastian's sacrifice…all of your knights…would have been in vain." Placing a gentle hand on the queen's shoulders, the swordmistress gently pulled her to her feet.

_Count Bastian's sacrifice?!_

Was he … dead? But how? He was clearly alive –

This was getting too surreal.

Taking a tentative step, Elincia wiped away a tear as she mutely followed. A gust of fresh air greeted them as finally, they arrived at the balcony. It was already nighttime.

Bastian stared in dumb silence at the sight below.

One half of the sky was gone; covered in some hazy, lightless matter that was darker than the natural darkness itself. The Royal Academy was burning brightly in the starless night, the flickering flames a mockery of the symbolic safety behind its taunting radiance. An entire section of the castle walls was demolished – melted; it seemed, by the looks of it. Thick trails of smoke rose from the ruined homes of the capital as …

He couldn't go on. This was too much for even him to bear. All the time, countless times assaulted him. Where was he? What was going on?

"Lucia…I..I'm scared." Elincia's voice broke the silence as she clung to her friend. There was no hope within those dark green eyes.

"After all this time…I won't let that thing get you." Lucia answered tensely. Only the slight quiver of her upper lip betrayed her own doubts. "If I had known that he could cause all this…I would have struck him down at the first opportunity I had. But, no matter...What's done is done now."

Suddenly, Lucia smiled. It was a confident, genuine smile.

"I'll make sure you live through this, Elincia. I won't let them hurt you. I promise." She squeezed the queen's hand, gripping her sword tightly. Behind her, a loud whine signaled the arrival of Elincia's pegasus, Serra. A trio of riders flanked the mare as she gently landed before the queen.

"The bulk of the Royal Knights are still out there – Kieran'll take care of things, and I'll protect you, even to my last breath." The swordmistress quipped as she helped Elincia mount her pegasus. "Goddess willing, maybe I –"

Another powerful explosion erupted from behind the two women as the pegasus neighed in horror. Bastian spun around, only to catch the sight of Geoffrey's body flying by. He instinctively closed his eyes and winced as the knight smashed into the corridor with a sickening crunch.

_Goddess. He was propelled straight through nearly a ton of pure stone…_

The thing howled as it slowly walked through the gap, casually plucking Geoffrey's broken lance from its torso. The ichor, still flowing from its wound, pulsed with an unholy glow as it moved toward the two women. The grin was still there.

Lucia turned pale as she swayed on her feet.

"…Brother. No…" She whispered.

The pegasus knights shouted a battlecry as they moved en masse to protect the queen. It was fruitless. The arms of the thing lashed out, slicing one to pieces and piercing the other in the blink of an eye. The last rider didn't even have time to raise her lance as she was nailed to her mount. With a scream, she fell out of the skies, the faint sound of her body smashing into the palace grounds below a grim revelation of the rest of their fates.

The cry snapped Lucia out of her dazed state. In that moment, her expression hardened. The swordmistress of Delbray took a small step forward as she raised her sword in an offensive gesture.

"Lucia…?" A half whimper escaped from Elincia's mouth as she looked at her milk-sister hurtfully. Bastian could tell what she was thinking – and how she wished that she was wrong. He screamed, too, but Lucia couldn't hear him.

"While I live, no harm shall come to you." Lucia answered, Laevateinn glinting faintly with reflected light.

"Don't do this…I've already lost him…I can't lose you … too…"

"I promised to come back to you safely once, didn't I?" A calm smile appeared on Lucia's face as she swiftly gave the pegasus a gentle nudge, forcing Elincia to grab onto it tightly. "Do you think your sister would ever lie to you?"

Elincia shook her head, tears running down her face. Before them, the thing cackled as it leapt forward, its armed now morphing into long spears.

"Go, Elincia. I promise!" Lucia shouted as she dashed down the corridor, her blade the only thing between her queen – her beloved sister – and certain death. "I promise I'll come back to you!"

Sparks flew from Laevateinn as it met the points of the monsters head-on, knocking Lucia back a few paces. Spinning around rapidly, the swordmistress ducked as the thing roared and lowered its other arm, frustrated that it could miss.

"Go!!" She screamed, risking a look back as she parried another blow from the creature. Then, Bastian saw her dry smile. She didn't need to call out a second time – Elincia's pegasus had already taken off with the queen.

_Be safe. _He heard Lucia's whispered. _I'll do my best …

* * *

_

"Lucia!!"

Groggily, the swordmistress opened her eyes. With a start, she realized that she was in bed – Bastian must have carried her there. Instantly, a blush appeared on her cheeks. To be dressed like she was, and to be so close to _him_…

She didn't know what made her feel such a way. She had only started paying attention to his antics a mere few days ago. It was too headstrong of her to be rushing in like this. She shouldn't be this comfortable…

Was it really rushing, though? They had been childhood friends, companions, and then comrade-in-arms in the service of the queen. Come to think of it, Count Bastian was one of the few people she knew rather well…

"Lucia! Oh, no. No! Oh, Goddess…"

Alarmed, she flipped out of bed. Cautiously, she peered into Bastian's room. The tone and urgency in which he shouted her name was. She wasn't sure if she should be amused or concerned, or perhaps both.

_Bastian?_

The sage was absolutely frantic as he tossed and turned in his bed. A thin sheet of sweat covered his skin as he moaned, once again screaming out her name.

* * *

"Haaaargh!"

Laevateinn clanged as it met its opponent head-on. The delay between each of her attacks, however, was growing longer. Lucia was rapidly tiring out. Here and there, crimson stains blossomed on her tattered clothing. One arm dangled uselessly by her side as she sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the next titanic strike.

Her opponent was not wholly unharmed, either – after the combined efforts of the Royal Knights, and Geoffrey's suicidal attack, it was losing momentum as well. Yet, it was much, much stronger than the annoying female human before it, and it would only be a matter of time before she became the next victim upon its bloody edge.

It was only due to sheer skill and a bit of luck on Lucia's part that she managed to survive this long. The two had exchanged a good number of blows, and from her perspective, each and every one of those should be fatal. Precise cuts, designed to sever arteries…deep slashes meant to render an opponent useless…None of her attacks worked.

Slowly, it dawned upon her that the battle was entirely hopeless – she could hurt it, perhaps, but she couldn't kill it. No matter how deeply her sword bit or how wide the wound was, it didn't matter – the creature she faced was immune to pain.

"Give in to me, pretty one." The thing taunted, blocking her feeble strike with an easy parry. "Give in, and I'll be sure to make you suffer a little less…"

The next blow took all her strength to block as the creature suddenly leapt forward, arcing his blade in a huge slash. It licked it lips eagerly, enjoying every moment of their battle.

"Give in, pretty one…your suffering shall be short, but glorious!"

Lucia raised her blade again, straining to block the incoming strike. Her tired legs slipped a little as she struggled to hold her position.

Snaking his other weapon around her back, the creature swung at her with the force of a hurricane. It watched in satisfaction as the club-like appendage caught her squarely in the back.

"Aa….aaagh..."

Her pained gasp was the sound of finest music to its ears. Morphing its other weapon into a large hand, the creature picked up the fallen woman, watching in amusement as she struggled to stay conscious.

"Drop your sting, pretty one…" It growled, forcing Lucia onto the ground and easily blocking her pitiful efforts. With its other arm, now morphed into a claw, it …

Bastian, unable to stomach it any longer, tried to avert his eyes. To his abject horror, he found that he couldn't look away.

_I am agony incarnate_. He heard the thing say. _I take your darkest nightmares and bring them to reality. Agony is my garden, where the screams are flowers, and pain, their fragrance…_

"Give in."

"N-no…" She stuttered, her eyes desperately searching for something. Her grip on her sword relaxed slowly as she gasped in pain. Even she was nearing her limits.

"Lucia…" Bastian whispered. He could not say anything else. He wanted to help her – anything. Right then, if he could have given up his own life for her, he would have done so without a doubt. But he could only whisper her name.

Slowly, her eyes wandered around, still searching for something. For a moment, they seemed to have locked onto his own.

"Ba…stian…?"

A hint of recognition appeared in those lucid blue eyes as her grip loosened. With a clatter, Laevateinn fell lightly to the floor. The swordmistress closed her eyes.

"That's right…" The creature grinned, its long tongue snaking hungrily as it lowered its face. "It is much more fun if there is no resistance… I'll break you first, then –"

A glint of something caught its attention. It spun around – the annoying little prick had disappeared from the floor altogether.

…_?_

Before it had time to react, the glowing tip of Laevateinn pierced its skull. It looked down in disbelief as suddenly, it realized what had happened. She tossed the sword, yes…but she tossed it…

…directly above…

Shrieking, it toppled backwards. Its form seemed to melt into the thin air as it slowly vanished, leaving Bastian alone with Lucia in the now-silent chamber.

The swordmistress collapsed.

* * *

Slowly, Lucia propped herself up. Her spine was broken, so she pushed herself along with her arm. She didn't care what happened now – she hurt so much. It was only a matter of time, anyways…

_I'm sorry, Elincia…I couldn't keep my promise…_

She crawled forward, the world fading and appearing in her eyes. She saw Bastian standing there, rooted to the spot. He could do nothing – he could only watch…he was a ghost, wasn't he? See? There he was…

"Bastian…Brother…wait…for me…"

She fell to the ground, her arm giving out. Biting her lip, Lucia tried to push herself back up. After all that…she could at least die beside her brother, if she couldn't die beside her…

_Goddess, please, let me live for a little longer._ She thought as she resumed her painful labor, inching toward her goal. She was hurting so much.

"Enough. Enough, Lucia. You have suffered enough…" A pair of powerful hands caught her as she collapsed again. The voice…it sounded so natural to her. Was it…?

"Bastian?" She opened her eyes slowly and blinked.

"Shh. Where would you like to go, Lucia?" Bastian carried her effortlessly as he stood up, his trembling hand feeling the tremor of her faintly beating pulse. It was growing weaker by the second. "My apologies…I was..."

The sage paused as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"I was too late…"

"…No. You're…just in time… Lucia smiled as she let out a satisfied sigh. "Here…Wherever we are…is fine."

Pitifully grasping his hand, the swordmistress looked into his eyes with a strange longing.

"Hah…to die like this, with you by my side… it's almost as if I remained pure for you… mm?" Hazily, she murmured, still grabbing onto his hand as if it was the only thing that still linked her to this world. "But I … didn't…"

She wanted desperately to live. She thought she had lost him. She wanted to be there, with him…

"I don't…deserve…this…"

Almost as an afterthought, Lucia added, a shadow of self-blame appearing on her face. Even now, close to death, she still…

_The darkness still haunted her. _

"Do not speak like that!" Bastian screeched as he watched her eyes close slowly. "Stay with me, Lucia…"

She couldn't hear him. Already, her breathing was getting shallower and shallower.

_Yes you do ._He wanted to say, but there was no time._ More than I could ever offer. You do deserve everything I have to give you, and more. I…_

"Stay with me…"

_I love you. I don't want to lose you. _

Those were the sage's true thoughts, yet they would never become Lucia's salvation. He could only watch helplessly as she breathed her last.

"Stay with me…"

Numbly, Bastian mouthed the words over and over again, hoping somehow, they'd bring her back. He felt her body growing colder and colder as the last traces of warmth left her lithe form.

"Lucia…"

At last, he knew what true sorrow meant. He tasted something salty in his mouth. Grown men weren't supposed to cry. But there were times when a man's emotions do get the better of him. The bitter waters cascaded down his cheeks as he closed his eyes and cried.

* * *

"Come on. Wake up. This isn't like you."

Worried, Lucia called out again. He was screaming incoherently, and the only thing she could really make out was her name. She had been there trying to talk to him for quite a while now, without any visible effect. It made her wonder if this was what she looked like – when she had those bad dreams…

Was she as lost as he was, trapped in some nightmare in which only she could see?

"Bastian?" She whispered again. Impulsively, she reached out and touched his forehead. It was cool to her touch. At least he was not feverish. That was good.

With a scream, the sage bolted straight up, knocking her off balance. His eyes scanned around wildly, searching for something until they finally focused on her face.

Almost instantly, a flood of relief washed over his visage as he fell back down with a grateful sigh. He looked too happy for words.

"Lucia…" She heard him murmur. "So...it was just a dream, a fleeting illusion, after all…Ha-ha…"

"Bastian? Are you alright?"

"…I am now, dear Lucia." The sage grimaced before quickly hiding it behind a smile. He was fairly certain that she wouldn't want to hear that dream anyways – it was too horrifying, too dirty, and too …

It was then he noticed that Lucia was literally sitting on top of him.

"Urk. How did you –"

Other than their respective small clothes, only a thin sheet separated the two – _Geoffrey would be appalled_. Bastian thought as he shifted slightly, feeling her body heat and reveling in her presence. As much as he hated himself for enjoying it, he really didn't want to shove her off just yet.

"Mm." Lucia answered, a little embarrassed at her own intimate gesture. She shouldn't have crawled up there in the first place. She probably shouldn't have touched him, either. "I… guess I wanted to make sure you were alright. Pardon me. I have forgotten my manners."

The nightmare was gone – dissipated like the sun shining through the morning mists.

"Are you…going back to sleep now?"

That question caught her completely by surprise.

"No, I suppose…not." It took her a good while to come up with a response. "Would you like me to stay with you …for a little while? That way, you could tell me what you saw…and well, if I could help you…"

Lucia paused, watching the sage nod. She inched closer and sat down next to him.

"We all our own burdens bear, Lucia…Yet, I would like nothing better than…" The sage lapsed into silence, unsure of his own answer.

He couldn't tell her the entire nightmare. They were not yet close enough for them to share everything –a chasm still existed between their hearts. But, that gap was shrinking.

_Nothing should be awakened prematurely. Especially not love. _

Finally, the sage settled on the simplest thing he could say – a simple pair of words.

"Thank you, Lucia…thank you."

She smiled as she leaned against him, the gesture intimate and elegant, but completely chaste.

_I'd like to stay with you forever._ Bastian thought as he relaxed, taking her smaller hands within his own. _But I'll be content with however long we have._

"The sun rises, Bastian. Whatever it is, let it trouble you no longer." Pointing a slender finger at the glowing star beyond, the swordmistress allowed the light to bathe the two in its peaceful luminescence.

_I could ask for nothing more. Thank you.

* * *

_

Author's notes:

Bedivere is supposed to be a [censored]. Don't mind him – he's been sitting in the Isle for way too long. It was more meant to showcase Kieran's strength than anything else.

The above scene has been Kender-Approved and proofread by Qieru. You guys might get tired of me thanking you all the time, but I think otherwise. Due credit should always be given.


	5. Part IV: Light and Shadow

He could still hear the sandstorm as it raged against the earth, the voices of the scorching wind howling in glee as it pummeled the grounds below. Wherever the winds passed, the great dunes scattered – revealing, for a moment, the mysteries beneath their golden grains. Then, as rapidly as a fading dream, the dunes closed again, leaving the watcher wondering if he had seen anything there in the first place.

Nearby, in his humble abode, a certain swordmaster sat cross-legged, his eyes deeply closed as if in meditation. The roof leaked, the sand buffeted him, but he paid it no heed. For all of his life, he had retreated to this place - his personal sanctuary against the rest of the world.

It was lonely, perhaps, but it was quiet. The community was closely knit, and for a warrior like him, his blade remained mostly sheathed. The desert offered them more than enough protection, and only a fool would seek treasure in the legendary Grann desert. Not that there weren't some who were especially foolhardy – but the elements often took care of them for him.

Like the sands, he lived here in relative seclusion, only wandering out into the world when he felt the calling. That was his way of life; a swordsman of peerless skill seldom appeared unless there was a worthy opponent – or a worthy student. To him, the way of the sword was more than an art. It was arguably life itself.

That blue-haired young man - the one with Gawain's style. What was his name?

_Ike__, _the winds answered softly. _Ike was his name._

And that energetic young woman? The one who was always by his side?

_Mia. Mia of Altea. _

_Such beautiful bladework, _the swordmaster thought, breathing deeply as he honed his senses. _Not yet perfect, but rapidly improving. _

Still, he had no business passing down his art to someone else who was already tutored by Gawain's son. The swordmaster sighed a little as he opened his eyes again, gazing deeply into the distance as he wished for someone to share his immense skill with.

_Someday. But not today. _

The wind grew fiercer as the desert storm intensified. He wondered if it was merely due to chance that in recent years, one promising star after another rose to the heavens, only to be mercilessly burned away by the flames of war.

_So many have fallen already, and so many more to fall. Such is the nature of conflict. _

There was yet another whose figure lingered in the back of his mind. The Crimean Queen's bodyguard…

_Lucia. Tremendous potential, wasted by her orthodox training…_

From the moment he laid eyes upon her, he instantly knew that she was holding back. Her sword was beautiful, but too restrictive. Lucia's focus was on routines and techniques. She had learned almost everything there was to countering weapon users, properly trained and rigidly adhering to standards.

_But her body yearned to be free_, the swordmaster mused. _She's too disciplined. Alas…_

She was good. There was no doubt about that. Yet good was not good enough – when she could easily be the_ best_, instead. When he first picked up the sword, he had nothing: no formal training, no master, no countless hours spent maintaining stances. All he had was his passion and spirit, and that carried him far, far beyond almost everyone he met.

His eyes wandered to the countless swords and blades he had collected over time. Some were sharp and conventional, peerless Crimean or Begnian weapons that could cut everything placed before them and more. Others were completely unorthodox: heavy blades nearly the size of his arms, soft whip-like edges, long, boat-cleaving swords…even a hunk of metal – a sword that was completely dull. All of these, he could use flawlessly …but there was no one to test his art on.

He could only wonder how great this young woman would be if she was guided in the right way. Perhaps in time, she could provide him with the challenge he had sought after -

The swordmaster looked up as he noticed he had a visitor.

"You won again." A wry smile appeared on his face as he sighed, admitting defeat. He was glad they were friends instead of foes. "Though I've an excuse! The sandstorm made it hard to hear your footsteps."

"Hello, Stefan." Only one man he knew could sound credibly threatening with even a simple greeting. "Are you going to invite me in?"

"Of course," Stefan answered as Volke unfurled his cloak and stepped forward. "Though I must point out, you already invited yourself..."

"I swear, you're turning into my employer." The assassin cynically cut off Stefan's comment as he lightly kicked off the sand gathered on his boots, stepping into the living area with impunity. "My matter is urgent. Have you a good half-hour to spare?"

"Indeed. Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?"

Stefan watched in interest as Volke pulled out a half-piece of canvas from his low-slung pouch.

"Here. Look at this." A hint of bitterness crept into Volke's voice as he carefully passed it to Stefan's outstretched hands. "I spent a couple of days trying to figure out this riddle. Then I realized that I should have probably visited you first – since you _are_ the master of swords, after all."

The assassin tensely relaxed into the chair as he propped his feet up against Stefan's coffee table. Stefan frowned a little, but sighed as he ignored the habitual offense. Some things just didn't change.

"I have my suspicions, but I'm certain that they're wrong." After a moment of silence, Volke added something as an afterthought: "in particular, pay attention to the edge."

"Quite, old friend. Give me half a second." The swordmaster cautiously turned the cloth around in his hand as he studied it.

The canvas was aged. That, he could tell instantly from the fabric and the fading colors. The young man painted upon it looked a little familiar, but he couldn't quite recall his identity. Running his fingers along the surface of the canvas, near the edge of the cut, Stefan nodded in appreciation.

"This is a good cut."

The edge was smooth, as if touched by fire. In fact, to him, that seemed to be precisely what had happened – or else… could have been a diamond blade. Yes, that could be it too. Or an enhanced silver weapon. Or a –

"Of course it was a good cut. I knew that already." Irritated, Volke slapped his forehead. "I didn't ask you to gawk over the edge."

The assassin pointed to a small corner of the edge of the cloth. Stefan squinted. He had indeed missed that the first time around.

"I know you're a master swordsman and all, but I honestly doubt anyone, living or dead, could figure out who it was just by looking at the way the piece was cut." Curtly, Volke continued. "Rather, I was trying to get you to look at this."

_I have much to learn about other things in life__._ Stefan paused as he studied the corner intently. There was a small pattern of some sort scratched onto it. If Volke hadn't pointed it out, he would have missed it. Running a hand through his hair, the swordmaster pursed his lips as he thought long and hard.

Immediately, one name jumped out at him. An instant later, he dismissed the thought. She was dead already. It had to be someone else.

Try as he might, though, he couldn't think of anyone else. But how? Puzzled, the swordmaster stared at the corner again.

A stylized twelve-point star, those letters, and that ringed pattern around it…no, that was it. His eyes weren't deceiving him.

"Is that the …" The swordmaster slowly queried. He didn't want to make any more mistakes.

"Exactly what I was thinking." Volke nodded. "Looks familiar, doesn't it?"

"Mm," Stefan muttered in affirmation, reverently passing the canvas back to Volke. "The cut of the edge certainly matched my own suspicions, but it's …it's the Evening Star, isn't it?"

The swordmaster paused, watching the assassin nod again. _Great minds do think alike._ Volke's next move, however, surprised him.

"…You are certain it's her?" A glint of something – wild joy? Hope? - appeared in Volke's eyes. As if unable to contain his own excitement, the assassin stifled a tremor as he stood up and moved closer to the window.

"Positive. I have fought countless battles, and remembered the heraldry of every single one. This one, however, I have no need to memorize – I've seen it often enough. It's hers, Volke, no doubt about it."

Stefan wandered over to the assassin's side. During all the years they had known each other, Volke seldom brought the topic up. That particular subject matter hadn't surfaced within a good eight or ten years.

"She was your shadow, wasn't she?" Tentatively, the swordmaster asked, unwilling to reopen old wounds.

"More than a shadow. Stefan, old friend," Volke muttered quietly, his eyes lingering on the desert beyond. Quite some time passed before he continued.

"She was definitely more than my shadow." The assassin's voice softened as he finished the sentence. "Once upon a time, I didn't work alone."

* * *

"Sister! Sister, are you in there?"

The silver knight anxiously tapped on his sister's door. Emotions swirled within him. He was guilt-ridden, hurt, confused, and in desperate need of advice. He hope he wasn't being too rude – Lucia needed her sleep too.

His booming knocks echoed in the empty hallway. Geoffrey winced. That might have been a little too much, but …

_I wish she'd hurry up. _

No answer. He wondered if his knocks were loud enough. Nervously peering around, as if making sure no one was watching him, the knight tried pounding on Lucia's door again. As Knight Commander, he was supposed to be setting an example for the younger knights. It wouldn't be proper for others to see him acting like this, even if it was his sister's room.

Yet, he was human, after all. And a hot-headed one at that.

_Daagh, what's taking you so long?_

Only silence greeted him. The polished silver handle seemed to smirk as he saw his own reflection in knight stood rigidly as he suppressed an urge to kick the door in.

"Ahem."

Geoffrey jumped in surprise. He turned, just in time, to see one of Lucia's informants emerge from behind a corner. The rogue winked, drawing her navy-blue cloak around her. Golden blond hair peeked out from beneath a white bandana as the young woman smiled.

"Such a gentleman, Sir Geoffrey. Looking for someone?"

"Lady Heather. Good morning," Geoffrey answered politely, a little disgruntled at the fact that just about everyone he knew could sneak up on him. "I'm looking for Lucia. I don't suppose you've…"

"Nah, that's who I'm looking for, too," the rogue replied as she dangled a small, sealed something in front of his nose before quickly stepping back into the shadows. "This is for her. Tell you what…if I see her, I'll pass the word on. Toodles!"

"Wait!"

Heather had already disappeared down the hallway, the swirl of her cape lingering before him like an afterimage. The knight shook his head and sighed. Heather's boundless enthusiasm for her job scared him. He didn't know someone could enjoy being a spy that much…

Speaking of spying, what was she doing back here? She was supposed to be in Daein…

Numbly, the silver knight entered a nearby staircase as he trudged toward Bastian's chambers. His head hurt. He didn't want to think anymore, but he couldn't just stand there, either. If Lucia wasn't around, then he had to keep on going.

_Hope Sister's not overexerting herself,_ he thought as he reached the door. _She's been looking a little tired these days…_

_A little? _Geoffrey quipped sarcastically to himself as he grabbed Bastian's ornate knocker, noticing that the door wasn't locked – a small crack was left open, for some strange reason. The knight sighed. For the mastermind of Crimea, Bastian had a bad habit of not closing doors. More than once, some petty thieves had taken advantage of this weakness – though magically, the Count seemed to always track down his stolen goods.

Still, it was good manners for him to ask for permission before entering – such was the rule of knighthood!

"Bastian? I apologize for the earliness of the hour, but I require your assistance!"

Silence again greeted him. No, wait, not complete silence – he could make out some faint sounds of whispering inside, but that was it. Even then, he wondered if it was only his imagination.

"Bastian? It's me. Geoffrey," the silver knight yelled again. He wouldn't be surprised if Bastian had a fellow lord or something over – no doubt discussing civic affairs. The Count was almost as overworked as Lucia, though he would never show it to anyone. Lucia, however, could never disguise herself very well to the people closest to her. He, at the very least, would know almost instantly if something was bothering her, or if she had a bad day...

Either way, Geoffrey was certain that Bastian would be able to hear him. The silver knight stood stiffly at attention as he resisted the vexing urge to simply push the door open.

More whispering floated through the small crack. Then, suddenly, he heard a giggle. The second voice… it was strangely familiar to him, as if he had heard it long ago...when his sister still laughed...

Unable to resist his curiosity, the silver knight poked his head into the doorway.

"Bastian, pardon my intrusion, but it truly is a matter of - urk…" The silver knight swallowed the last part of his sentence as his eyes widened comically. Now he understood why Bastian had ignored him earlier.

The two in the room – Bastian, and a certain blue-haired young woman – were sitting contently on top of the bed, bathing in the morning sun together. The faintest hint of a blush was on his sister's face as she leaned against the sage, her bare shoulders a sharp contrast to his black night-robes. The sage gently ran one hand through her blue hair and whispered something into her ear.

Geoffrey watched as Lucia smiled, looking happier than he had seen her in a long time. She playfully grabbed Bastian's other hand as she whispered something back with a contented sigh. Neither of them noticed the silver knight's presence.

_This…this is improper! How could he…he…_

Geoffrey blanched. Bastian was known to be frivolous, but playing with his sister like _that_…

While both of them were still fully clothed in their sleepwear, something was definitely wrong about the whole thing. They were holding hands! Her shoulder was touching his! Did they not know that such behavior was improper and unacceptable?

For that matter, why was his heart pounding as well? Why couldn't he push the thought of Elincia out of his head?

_Ohohohoho. You…you wouldn't mind doing this with Elincia, would you, sir knight? _Calill's coquettish voice echoed in the back of his head as he vaguely recalled an earlier conversation.

_No...Yes, yes! I do mind. It's not right…not right…_

Quietly closing the door, Geoffrey wandered slowly down the hallway, a burning feeling building within his heart and cheeks. He felt dirty. He should have just ignored the whole thing.

_What to do now, though? Could the day get any worse?_ The silver knight sarcastically asked himself. First, the training was horrible, and then he had hurt Elincia. After that, he walked in on his best friend and sister, doing _that_!

The knight's footsteps came to a halt. He didn't know what he felt – betrayed, hurt, confused…none of that mattered now. What mattered was the fact that he should act and do the chivalrous thing, now!

Pivoting around, the silver knight dashed down the hallway, his azure armor clattering loudly as he threw away all pretense of stealth. Now was the time for him to be what he was supposed to be – a defender of women.

"Bastian, you conniving rake! How dare you take advantage of my sister's innocence!" Geoffrey roared as he kicked open the door.

* * *

Lucia stretched lazily as she sighed, digging her bare feet into the soft carpet beneath.

"I could get used to this," she whispered to the sage sitting next to her. Though they had spent most of the night sitting and chatting with each other, what little sleep she had was unusually refreshing. "Could you?"

"Indeed, dear Lucia, I could..." Bastian answered, gently caressing her hand. It was a little cooler than his own, but smooth and pleasing to the touch. The sage lightly grasped her palm with his finger, into her eyes, marveling at their beauty.

_Move not so rapidly, _his intellectual side warned. _You might startle her. It may be wise to let go of her hand…_

Looking into Lucia's face, the sage suddenly found that he couldn't pull away. Her blue eyes possessed an alluring quality of their own. While she was apt at hiding her tone and facial expressions, Bastian had learned over the years that her eyes spoke truer than any other part of her body. Even now, he felt a deep connection to her – an unfamiliar, yet wonderful link that he had never dared to hope for.

Yet, those eyes! He wondered what kind of a tale her eyes could reveal as they grew closer. Already, he could sense a plethora of emotions. Uneasiness, confusion, fear, hope, desire … all of those and more were found in those lovely azure eyes.

_Take me up; love me,_ a part of them said. _Cast me away,_ said the other part. One moment, her eyes were full of hope – revealing the fluttering heart of a young maiden who had, until recently, sealed her emotions in the name of duty and love for her country and queen. Another moment passed, and her eyes were slightly more downcast. Uncertainty plagued her; something bothered her. The eyes now gave clues as they tried to tell him about some vast tragedy that she alone bore. _I'm not ready_, they said. _Maybe one day I will be, but I'm not ready now._

Bastian sighed. He understood the feeling. The walls she had put up around herself could not be breached by anyone else but her. It was good that she had decided to open up a few windows, else she would have succumbed to the pressure and loneliness a long, long time ago.

_Let us help you, Lucia…let us help…_

"...Bastian? Why are you looking at me like that…?" A sudden murmur from Lucia snapped him out of his reverie.

Though her voice was serene, she was nonetheless flustered and a little confused. With a surprised sigh, Bastian blinked. Embarrassment crept onto his face as he realized he must have been staring.

"I…I was looking into your eyes," the sage answered calmly. Paying close attention to her every expression, he slowly brought a hand up to touch her hair, if only to see what it felt like.

He heard a small gasp. Instinctively, Lucia's body tensed as she suddenly stiffened a little, clearly unfamiliar with such an intimate act. Her skittish reaction reminded him of an injured pegasus – fearful of being wounded again, but desperately seeking comfort from a loving face. The sight of her uncertainty kindled a tender feeling within his heart.

"You're beautiful, Lucia, I am sure I have told you this." He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Your eyes…they enchant me. Your gaze – it is like the purest moonlight, washing over a still midnight lake. Is it my fault for staring so?"

Lucia's sleek hair flowed through his fingers like fine silken sheets. A maidenly blush appeared on her face as she relaxed once more, resting her head and shoulders against him. The two said nothing for a long time – merely enjoying each other's company.

_We're moving too fast, _his mind again warned him. But just this once, he paid it no heed.

"Bastian, I…" The swordmistress' lips curved into a content smile as she looked at him. She made no effort to move away as she lightly squeezed his hand.

"Mm?" The sage replied, his heart lightening at the sight of her joyfulness. Rarely did he get to see Lucia's happier side, though now he wished that she could be smiling all the time.

"This…this is enough for me," Lucia sighed in satisfaction. Looking deeply into Bastian's eyes, she whispered something incoherently as she relaxed her grip and weakly pushed him away. "To be admired like this…I could never, ever dream of …I…"

Slowly, she lapsed into silence as distant bells tolled, their regal voices announcing the coming of day. For a moment, she looked a little disappointed. _Is the day already here_? Her eyes seemed to complain as she closed them briefly, but even that hint of sadness quickly faded as well. There was no need for her to finish. Even if only for a little while, whatever darkness that was plaguing her soul had disappeared.

Lucia sighed again as she awkwardly snuggled up against his side. The confused blush on her face revealed her conflicting emotions as she felt simultaneously comfortable and ill at ease. Bastian's heart winced. _Poor dear_, he thought. _Poor dear…_

There and then, the sage suddenly felt as if he had another glimpse into his lady's heart. Now, he knew. He knew why Lucia rejected his advances for all those years. A flood of words tumbled across the forefront of his mind as he wanted to say something, but –

""Bastian, you conniving rake! How dare you take advantage of my sister's innocence!"

Bastian jumped as Geoffrey burst through the doorway. Pointing an accusing finger at the couple within, the knight stomped forward. His steps could be heard echoing down the hallway.

_Out of all the things that could have interrupted…_the sage dryly mused as he inhaled deeply, slightly shifting Lucia backwards in a half-protective, half-respectful gesture. The swordmistress gasped in surprise, but she made no move to distance her body from him. The action was strangely comforting to the wind sage.

"Sir Geoffrey! How good to see you this morning!" The Count of Fayre answered glibly, noticing a haggardness within the silver knight's eyes. "Can I help you?"

"No! You can't! I mean, yes! No, I – Get away from her!" Geoffrey stammered in anger. Awkwardly, he took another half-step forward. "Sister! What has he done to you? Did he -"

"Done what? It's Bastian," Lucia snapped, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "You know him better than I." In another instant, her voice softened. "Are you…alright, brother? I should be asking you, and not you, me. You seem quite stressed…"

"But! But but but! You were next to him! And he was next to you! And he was touching …you!" Spluttering, the silver knight motioned wildly, his face turning redder by the second as he ignored his sister's concern.

_Fear not, O knight commander. I would not dare think about forcing myself on your beloved sister…_the sage thought as he bit back a chuckle. The way Geoffrey was acting was rather entertaining, and he thought the younger man's concern for his only sister was quite endearing. It almost made him wish he had siblings…Bastian snuck a glance at Lucia, noticing the same expression on her face. The swordmistress was trying extremely hard to not laugh out loud.

"It's …I …but! You! And he! It looks like… and I …Aaaaarrgh!"

The room reverted back to its previous state of tranquility as Geoffrey suddenly stopped. The silver knight looked a little embarrassed as his mouth opened a few more times, but no words came out.

"Are you…finished, Sir Geoffrey?" the sage inquired, unsure of his visitor's behavior. "Perhaps you could, ah, take a seat, and explain to us your concern in a manner we could, er, understand."

The silver knight nodded as he plopped into a couch nearby, looking completely drained.

"Brother, I don't know what you were thinking, but whatever it was, it wasn't it," Lucia commented. In a few more words, she quickly explained her story from last night to him.

"So …you two …weren't doing…_that_?" Looking visibly relieved, Geoffrey sighed.

"No. We were just …" Blushing, Lucia answered quietly. Normally, she would have felt really awkward discussing such provocative subjects. Yet now, out of the two men in the room, one was her brother, and the other an old friend whom she'd like to get to know a little better…so what was the harm? She was in good company…

Try as she might, though, she couldn't quite get the word out of her mouth. Wordlessly, she gave Bastian a small prod as she silently requested aid.

"Sir Geoffrey. The term is called 'cuddling.' It is not a particularly libidinous or disrespectful word, and it's a natural way for …ah --" the sage paused, searching for an appropriate word as he nimbly dashed out of bed and into the kitchen. "-- two …people…to show affection for each other. Rather like hugs, except it goes a little deeper."

"I see. Thank you, Bastian." The silver knight nodded, looking a little sour again as he slumped back into the couch. "Though the explanation was excessive. I don't think I'll get to do it with…"

"Brother, you still didn't tell us what happened yet." Lucia sighed as she noticed her brother's depression. She knew that if she didn't get him talking about it now, the knight would probably never speak of it again. _Is it Elincia?_ **s**he thought as she circled slowly behind his seat. She could already smell the fragrance of tea brewing. _It must be …maybe she had an argument with him…?_

"Let me guess. Something happened between lovely Elincia and our young cavalier here, nay? For only a devastation of such magnitude would cause Sir Geoffrey –"

"Bastian, shut up. Let him talk."

The sage piped down as he flashed Lucia a knowing grin. _Great minds think alike_, his eyes smirked as he gestured with the kettle. Lucia sighed again and rubbed her temples. While great minds may think alike, the … situation with Elincia was an especially delicate one. She should know.

"Bastian, sister. You have no idea…I did something horrible…horrible…" The knight buried his head in his hands and began to tell his tale…

* * *

"It was good seeing you again, old friend. Please tell me if you have need of me."

Volke nodded as he activated the warp powder, watching the swordmaster wave. The strange substance always left a nauseating feeling in his throat afterwards.

The humble abode of Stefan vanished. A pitch darkness surrounded him, and he knew it as the familiar color of the aether, the swirling, growing root of all disorder in the world. An anathema to order, the mages nonetheless saw it as a way of rapid travel. It was a realm where time itself stopped its even movements, and all grew still. In the blink of an eye, Volke could travel the entire length of a continent if he so choose.

"_One day, I swear I'm going to find a way for both of us to travel…here, in this place. That way, we could have an eternity to ourselves. Wouldn't it be wonderful, Volke?"_

He heard a voice – or, rather, he thought he heard a voice. Volke shook his head. The voice vanished. He saw faces that he knew in the past and faces that he knew now. Countless images of the future danced past him. The assassin snorted. No matter how tantalizing it was to stay in the aether longer, he knew that try as he might, he could never see anything. The future is clouded, and uncertain. That was the only thing the aether could reveal.

_We beorc are not meant to be here... using this path,_ the assassin thought somberly as the darkness separated into colors. Slowly, as the color coalesced, he could feel himself growing more and more substantial…

Another instant passed, and he found himself at Largo's inn. The Calill's doors were open wide, and a tantalizing aroma wafted past his nose. Another hint of something – a smile, perhaps? – surfaced on his face as the assassin casually walked in -

"Uncle Volke!" A high pitched squeal greeted him as a small something flew into his leg. "Yay! Daddy! Uncle Volke's back!"

Volke coughed. Somehow, despite being a world-class assassin, Largo and Calill's little daughter always got him. _Maybe they should start hiring ten-year-olds to go after me_, he thought wryly as he awkwardly patted Amy's head. He was extremely uncomfortable around children – he could never predict how the small, unpredictable things were going to act.

"Ha! Welcome back!" Largo boomed behind the counter, a huge grin on his face. "Amy! Go bring Uncle Volke a drink!"

Immediately, the weight on his leg lessened as Largo's daughter hurriedly ran off, her twin braids dangling behind her. Volke breathed a small sigh of relief – _Good._ Any longer, and his urge to throw sharp objects might have grown too strong for him to suppress.

"That's my girl!" The berserker smiled as Volke slid into a seat. "Would you like something to eat?"

"Whatever's quickest," the assassin answered. Getting straight to business was what he preferred. The Calill was another one of his more regular spots, and he saw it as something of a base of operations within Crimea. "Largo. Any news?"

"Nothing much, nothing much…there's a banquet at the Palace tonight. I think they're welcoming the arrival of the Daein delegation," Largo mused, cutting up a nearby lamb shank expertly. "Calill'd be a better person to ask – she's out, though…sorry if I couldn't be much help. I need to head back to the kitchen! Call if you need anything!"

The assassin nodded again as he turned to his food. Good. Nothing had happened while he was on personal leave. He wondered if Bastian had an assignment for him soon – or if he should discuss his findings with the –

"Uncle Volke! Red…or…white?" Amy's piercingly loud voice interrupted his thoughts as the girl waded up to him with a bottle in each hand.

"Red," The assassin replied, nodding in appreciation to the care Amy paid to her selection. Suddenly, deciding on a whim, he pulled out a small key and tossed it to her. "Would you like to do Uncle Volke a favor and see if there's anything for him in the mail?"

Watching the little girl run out the door, Volke hid a smile as he took a sip of the vintage. Mm, the taste was the same – a little dry, perhaps, but getting there. _Ever better_. For some reason, the Crimean Royal Motto flashed suddenly in his mind. The thought amused him. Was this the same way this couple ran their inn -

"Uncle Volke!"

The assassin almost choked on his wine at the sound of the shout. _Goddess, the kid is fast,_ he thought as Amy gingerly passed him his key along with a small white envelope. _I have to ask Calill if she wanted her daughter to go into the trade…_

Wolfing down the rest of his food, the assassin turned his attention to the letter. It was unusual for him to get written missives – Bastian always preferred to meet with him personally. He sliced the thick envelope open and took out the parchment inside.

The assassin's eyes widened for a moment. Excitedly tracing the writing with a gloved finger, he mouthed the contents several times, as if ensuring the message was correct…

No, his eyes were not deceiving him. He'd never thought he would ever see those glyphs again.

"Elimination", "Critical personnel", "Imminent", and "Night's end", the message read. Then, below, in a smaller writing, someone he knew wrote a simple line.

_I have my reasons. Don't try to stop me. _

In the place where the signature was located, there was only a small sign – the same sign scratched into the side of his torn painting…

Volke paled. The glyph for "critical personnel" was more aptly described as "ruler" or "employer." Was this…? Quickly folding the paper, he placed it in an inner pocket. If he started preparing now, he might just be able to find Bastian. This was…serious.

Conflicting emotions of elation and dread - emotions that he had rarely felt before in his life - washed over him. She was alive. That much was certain. And yet…why was she…?

The assassin felt his pulse quicken. Whatever it was, he had a clear target. He would find her tonight…and find out.

_There is no time for that now, _the assassin thought as he stood up. _I must act. _

"Uncle Volke? Is the letter…bad?" Amy asked quietly as he reached the door.

"No, Amy. It's not…bad." He answered. He was glad he had his back to the little girl, or else she'd surely have known he was lying. Some small children were not easily fooled. "Uncle…Volke has some grown-up business to take care of. Tell your daddy I may be back very, very late tonight."

Amy nodded wordlessly as the assassin quickly disappeared into the streets, his shadow melding into one with the setting sun.

* * *

Lucia tapped her feet impatiently as she lounged in the meeting room. The morning had gone a little sourer than she had expected, but the scratching sound of Qieru's pencil was oddly calming.

_Men!_ she muttered to herself. _Thinking with their hearts and not their heads. _

It turned out that she and Bastian had radically different opinions about how to handle Elincia. While the advice Bastian had given her brother wasn't bad – in fact, it sounded suspiciously like what he would do under the same circumstances – she couldn't help but to think that _that _particular strategy wouldn't work on Elincia…

She should know. They had grown up together like sisters – no, closer than sisters. From Lucia's personal experience, just leaving Elincia alone for a few hours would be was made out of sterner stuff than she looked. There was no need for this "seize-the-day-show-her-your-love" drama that Bastian was suggesting.

_Poor Geoffrey, s_he thought as she stared blankly at a nearby wall. _He looked so confused…and lost. I …I should have been able to help him. _

The way the silver knight wobbled out of the room was a little disheartening. She wondered if he would be alright tonight…

Yet, what did she know about relationships? She had never been in love before, and she doubted anyone could really hurt her… was that because she couldn't allow anyone to get too close to her? Was she afraid of being hurt?

_Maybe Bastian was right. Either way, I shouldn't have yelled earlier..._

"Lady Lucia. Good afternoon to ye." She looked up to see Culainn enter the room. The Lord of Tiraclon looked as cheery as ever as he sat down, his crimson lance resting easily by his side.

"Do you always lug that thing around, Culainn?" Lucia asked. Culainn was one of the newer faces at court – though Bastian and a few of the others seemed to know him very well. She had never seen him without his weapon. "It looks pretty heavy."

"Aye, Lady Lucia. 'Tis twenty-eight pounds o' finest steel," the lancer answered, his heavy accent slipping naturally into his words as he grinned, casually thrusting the lance forward for her inspection. "Gae Rosanna. A finer lance ye couldn't find anywhere else -"

"Quite," a female voice interrupted him as Heather slipped out of the shadows with a little twirl. "Though, in my humble opinion, some would much prefer your other lance…if you know what I mean."

Giving the lancer a knowing wink, the rogue lightly danced over to Lucia's side and casually brushed against her. Lucia sighed.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Heather...you're enjoying this spy role a little too much."

"But isn't it such a wonderfully exciting life? To be the queen's eyes and ears, upon foreign soil…living constantly in danger of being exposed as we work with all the great names the average citizenry could only gape at in wonder…the mystique! The charm! The danger…"

Heather leaned in closely as she whispered in her ear with a wink. Lucia wasn't particularly amused.

"Heather. The message." She spoke with her teeth slightly bared.

"Right, sorry." Suddenly taking on an air of seriousness, the rogue brought out a small parchment. "The Thief's Guild in Daein was eliminated to a man."

Qieru stopped her scribbling and looked up in shock. Culainn gulped. The room was suddenly extremely uncomfortable.

"This is their letter – to ask for aid from Begnion, I think…though I better hold off on the story. Are we waiting for anyone else?"

"Just us, this time." Lucia shook her head. Bastian was busy casting the detection wards on the castle walls, and Geoffrey was away. In times of peace, that left Qieru and Culainn the only ones left with direct control over the Palace Guards.

"I was snooping about in Daein when I realized something: the small-fry guys weren't hitting on me anymore. Actually, come to think of it, there weren't any small-fry guys around. Now, as you know, I currently work as a double agent, so I have access to the guild. Although most of the time, I pose as a high-ranking courtesan in order to gain valuable information from their ruling elite, the Thief's Guild nonetheless keep an eye on me at almost all times…"

"Aye, Heather. You do that impression well," chuckled Culainn.

"…Thanks." The thief glared at him in annoyance. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to take Culainn's word as a compliment or an insult. "Anyways, I decided to pay a visit to the Guild. The only thing I found? Dead bodies everywhere. Now, I have no idea what might have happened, but the last time I checked, the Thief's Guild was on excellent terms with the Daein government."

"Mm, indeed …" Qieru piped up from the sidelines. She hadn't participated in the battle years ago, but she knew of the stories regarding Sothe and Micaiah. "Wasn't Lord Sothe a thief, once? Surely he wouldn't turn his hand on kindred spirits, especially since the Thief's Guild is a fairly honorable bunch…"

Heather nodded. Pursing her lips, she began to pace.

"First things first, though, lass. How many dead?"

"A hundred and sixty four bodies, including the servants, thieves, and the families of the thieves."

"…Goddess…"

"Exactly. Now, I'm no sleuth, but something suggests that it was the work of one man. In almost every single case, there was but a single wound on the body. The precision of the blows are frightening. Lady Lucia, Qieru, Lord Culainn. If you'll pardon me for saying this … the style almost reminds me of…" the rogue gulped heavily before finishing her sentence. She was clearly unwilling to make such an accusation. "…Volke…"

An awkward silence emerged. No one was willing to confirm her theory, but no one was willing to deny it, either. Heather possessed tremendous talent as a thief – the fact that she had survived for this long told them that much. She was also not a girl who accused others lightly, which was one of the reasons why Lucia had hand-picked her as an informant.

"Volke's one o' ours," Culainn answered hesitantly, unwilling to condemn the Fireman to her theory. "Trust me, lass. He's one o' ours. An' I know him. He wouldn't do…"

"I know! Which is why it's so damn scary!" Heather snapped back, her face flushed crimson. "Don't you see? If this is one person, then what better time to strike than now? With that delegation coming in tonight …I'm just worried. Worried…for Queen Elincia!"

Another silence. Heather was right. Queen Elincia would be a perfect target. But still…there was no reason for them to worry that much, was there?

"Hold. Let's not jump to, em, conclusions. What makes ye think this…person, is comin' to Crimea?" Again, it was Culainn who finally spoke. His blue eyes quivered slightly as he leaned back. "For that matter, any reason ye could find on the …killin'?"

"Only this letter, which was badly smudged and bloodstained by the time I got inside. After some careful bleach work, I could only make out a few words, which are found..." Heather shook her head as she unfolded the parchment, pointing to a faintly visible line that she had highlighted with blue ink. "…here."

"…Spirit of vengeance…past wrongs…Crimea…" Lucia whispered. Beyond that, she could make out nothing else. Though it was summer, she suddenly felt a chill crawling onto her body.

"The 'Crimea' within this letter could be anything, from the dead person's family to where this killer came from," Qieru muttered as she craned her neck around, trying to get a better look. She didn't like the fact that everyone in the room was at least half a head taller than she was. "Still, I see what you mean, though. As the Queen's servants, we can't afford to take this risk."

"A spirit of vengeance? I doubt such things exist. Still, Heather, this is serious. Good work, lass." Looking a little less skeptical now, the Lord of Tiraclon frowned as he leaned back. "Though I wonder what kind of a bastard man would kill …for the sake of killing…"

"Indeed," Lucia continued. "Which is why we're here, then. We need to patch up our defenses. The assassin might have cleaned out a guild of thieves, but we'll need to see how well he fares against the Royal Guards. Normally I am the sole commander, however…Culainn! Your weapon…warns the user of impending danger, just like Amiti, right?"

She paused as the lancer looked at her. In that instant, he realized why Lucia wanted him present.

"Aye, lady Lucia, that it does. That it does." _All for our dear Queen Elincia_, Culainn thought as he smiled. _My Queen, you're lucky to have a servant such as her…_

"Perfect." Lucia's expression lightened as she pulled out a large scroll. Unraveling a map of the palace grounds, she hurriedly pulled out a marker. "I'll be beside the queen at all times, but the rest of the Palace…I need you three to take care of..."

* * *

Earlier, across a few hundred miles of Crimean sky, things were not nearly so peaceful.

"How many times do I have to tell you idiots? Get lost!" The Dragonlord yelled from the back of Gilgamesh as he ducked, narrowly dodging a javelin flung in his direction. "I've said this before, I won't say it again! I'm not carrying anything!"

The four Crimean pegasus knights only answered with a rousing battle cry as they dove toward him in unison. Haar sighed. The chase had gone on for an hour at least and he was afraid that Gilgamesh was getting too tired to dodge them for much longer.

"Gil, partner. How are ya holding up?"

_Tired! Dodging stupid apple-eating hairbag tiring! Gilgamesh do not like!_ The wyvern angrily snorted as he twisted sharply, dodging another strike from the pegasus knight on its left. It couldn't understand why Master Haar was not fighting. Seriously. All he'd have to do was dig his heels in instead of turning around, and he'd more-than-happily tear into those annoying things for him.

_But Master Haar promise Mistress Jill – no more fighting …_Dimly, the wyvern remembered.

"Haar. Stop. I can't let you fight like that any more…" the wyvern remembered Jill saying. The red-haired girl was crying after a glorious battle he and Master Haar had participated in. True, Master Haar was scratched up pretty badly, but compared to Gilgamesh? That puny wound was nothing. It had lost entire limbs before – and it was still fine! See? Perfectly fine –

A jarring bolt knocked into its wings. _Stupid apple-eating hairbag and stupid shiny throwing tin can…. _

Roaring, the wyvern tried to careen to the left, only to find a pegasus at its flanks. A quick glance to the right showed it the same.

"Wedge. They're trying to wedge us in," Haar muttered as he gripped the handle of his axe even more tightly. At that moment, the wyvern wished his master wasn't so blasted true to his word all the time. It bobbed up and down desperately as it tried to figure out a way to move out of the wedge formation that the pegasus knights were slowly forming. Gilgamesh had seen such a tactic used before – with very devastating results.

_Ugh. Fight. Or, maybe Mistress Jill right. Diet good idea…_ sadly, it thought to itself. Had this been a year ago, it would have been able to rush one of the flanks, easily breaking out of the trap. But now, months of feeding with only sporadic exercise made it a little …

Sniffing loudly, the wyvern smelled a fifth presence, coming in towards him. It roared angrily. So! There were more of the hairbags around.

Haar grimaced at the sound of his mount's warning roar. He could see the pegasus knights closing in on him. If this went on...he would have no other choice but to fight. Even so, the advantage had been long since been lost, and with the incoming rider…

He squinted. The sun was shining brightly in his eyes, and he couldn't quite make out the incoming rider's colors. From the sound of the wings beating, though, he knew it was another pegasus rider. The rider was holding something in his outstretched hand.

A loud screech slammed into him with the force of a gale. Haar blinked. That screech…

"General Haar!" The rider flew into view, her short brown hair erratically flying in the wind. She brandished her sonic sword as her heavily armored pegasus neighed. A small string of bells decorating her mount's side began jangling as she swooped in closer, bringing her mount in line with his. "Need a little help?"

_Deputy Commander of the Holy Guards, Tanith. _Haar sighed in relief. Good. He had been worried for a second.

"Much obliged!" he yelled back. Tanith saluted him with her blade as she dived toward one of his pursuers. As the other rider scrambled to move out of the way, the wedge formation was broken. Wordlessly, the other riders lapsed behind as they milled about, unsure of their tactics.

Then, in unison, they retreated, unwilling to let another see their dirty work. Seeing his pursuers back off, Haar whistled loudly. Gilgamesh needed a break, and he was glad he didn't have to violate his own vows.

"Sorry there, pal, but I thought you could use the exercise," the Dragonlord muttered as he patted Gilgamesh' neck lightly, landing in a nearby clearing. A flutter of wings close by told him that Tanith had followed suit.

_Hmph. Master Haar make funny joke! Gilgamesh know Master no want fight, _the wyvern wheezed in complaint as it snaked onto the soft grass below. _Gilgamesh no recall exercise involve thunder and spear…_

"General Haar. Greetings." The pegasus knight tensely addressed the pair. "What brings you so far from Talrega?"

"I was about to ask the same thing," Haar answered. "I was on business on behalf of the state when these Crimeans ambushed me for no apparent reason. And you, Commander? It's not like you to be away from Sienne and the Empress' side."

The blush that appeared on Tanith's face was the last thing he expected to see.

"I'm …on a special mission," she murmured, bringing a gauntleted hand up to hide her rosy cheeks. "I'm seeking the White Prince…"

Haar raised an eyebrow in curiosity. This was a tale he wanted to hear…

* * *

Pelleas breathed deeply, Tauroneo and the rest of his retinue following respectfully behind him. Crimea smelled nice. The city of sages – hah! It was more like the city of flowers. A beautiful fragrance floated past him as he rode on, the imposing gates of Palace Melior standing before him.

Melior itself had a half-circle layout – with the Palace being located on the top of the hill, close to the center. The design was both sensible and aesthetically pleasing. Instead of a moat, however, a gigantic garden served as a natural barrier between the noisier districts downhill, the palace, and the mage's tower nearby. It was large enough to make a difference, but not so large that it hid the palace away from sight. The outer gardens were popular spots for couples and families.

Most of the trees in the palace complex had been planted several hundred years ago, their massive size a testament to Crimea's history. The ancient beings, unharmed by millennia of warfare, seemed to smile at him as Pelleas slowly moved past them, admiring their tenacity.

_Like the people of the land…these trees endured. And so, they shall continue to endure._ The ambassador smiled. He had picked a good time to visit - thousands of flowers were in bloom. The bright, vibrant colors made his already joyous heart a little giddier than usual.

_Oh, Micaiah. If only you could see this…t_he dark sage thought as he lowered his head slightly to avoid a nearby tree branch. _There is so much hope here…_

"Beautiful, are they not?" General Tauroneo beamed, pointing to a nearby patch of flowers that Pelleas couldn't name. "These flowers…they do not grow in Daein."

"Mm," he answered. He knew it was just Tauroneo's way of distracting him from the upcoming task. The general had worked tirelessly to keep him safe – not that there was anything threatening him, of course. The constant patrols, the meticulous watches, and the scouting riders ensured his safety…

_All this to keep my mind clear of the upcoming negotiations…_

The dark sage coughed. Just thinking about verbal fencing with the Crimean nobles made him cringe. He was sure that he would be viewed with great amounts of suspicion – and rightfully so. Four years ago, Daein mercilessly invaded Crimea, slaying its royal family and devastating the countryside. Such old wrongs weren't forgotten easily…

The fact that he was being sent here to improve relations…Pelleas sighed heavily. If he were the Crimeans, he'd be pretty nervous, too. The move itself was very suspicious, though he had no negative intentions in his heart. Actually, it was he who had came up with the idea. The first steps to establishing ties would be to have a mutual exchange of sorts – he would be at the Crimean Court, yes, but it would only be the right thing to do if Queen Elincia also sent someone else over to Daein.

Over time, perhaps, the Crimean people would see that he wasn't such a threat after all…and hopefully then, they would start changing their minds about Daein. And perhaps the old memories of hatred, after all this time, would finally fade. He would be remembered in history as the hero who managed to unite two fractured peoples…the hero who brought peace and tranquility between Daein and Crimea…

"Prince, ah, Lord Pelleas?" Tauroneo's worried inquiry snapped him back to reality.

"Tauroneo, I'm not your prince anymore, nor am I a lord," he answered, smiling wryly. "For now, I'm just Pelleas…"

"Ah, but to your old retainers, you shall always be called Prince! As long as Queen Micaiah doesn't mind, then the people could care less! And, you are her emissary, so 'Lord' would be the proper way to address your lordship."

_Micaiah_…Pelleas' heart twinged. He knew he needn't worry so – Sothe was constantly hovering by her side, making sure she was sleeping and eating and taking care of herself during the dark sage's absence. He knew the ex-rogue loved her as much as he did, though, and that bothered him a little bit.

He had always felt a special kind of attraction towards Micaiah – perhaps it was due to the Mark, or the fact that they were both so alone… before they had found each other, that is. The times when the Daein Liberation Army was in full force were the happiest times of his life. Micaiah would come to him, late at night, to talk and laugh with him as if he was a person rather than the Prince.

Sothe didn't take it too well, of course, but the two men gradually formed an uneasy friendship of sorts – cemented by their mutual love for Micaiah…

Suddenly, a huge banner dropped from the entryway. With a loud creak, the drawbridge lowered, revealing twin shining lines of white-armored knights lined along the carpeted entrance. Somewhere in the far distance, a group of horns sounded.

Pelleas gulped. This greeting was far more impressive than he had expected, especially given the short timeframe of notice. The banner's threadwork was magnificent. Telling a compelling story of its people with ribbons and gems, the cloth almost seemed to be scoffing at him as it dangled proudly before the gates. Beneath the banner, the Crimean warriors – they must have been the Royal Knights – stood at full attention, their armor glinting in the setting sun as the shadows of their lances stood unwavering upon the castle walls.

_Then again, they've had more time to rebuild…not that it's an excuse…Ashnard nearly burnt Melior to the ground, while Ike ignored the citizenry and went straight for the palace…_

Disguising his feeling of inadequacy, Pelleas waved in response. He felt silly, but he had to accept the gesture.

"Your honorable lordship, Lord Pelleas!" Kieran's excited face popped out from behind the parapet as he took a deep bow. "Welcome to Melior! Please, right this way. The most beautiful and just Queen Elincia has requested me to see to all of your needs…until the banquet tonight, that is!"

"Sir Knight, you look familiar…" Tauroneo muttered. The comment bright a spark into Kieran's eyes.

"Ah! Has my fame grown so much that even the great General Tauroneo has heard of my esteemed name?" The old general saw the cavalier smirk to himself as he nimbly hopped down from the walls. "Oh, blessed am I to have such –"

"…But I remember not your name…" the white-armored general finished, feeling a little guilty at the sight of Kieran's disappointment.

"Huh? T-then, I shall introduce myself!" The knight cleared his throat as he puffed himself up, sticking his chest out. "I am Crimean Royal Knight! The invincible Sir Kieran, mightily fearless, Second Knight Commander, at your service!"

Tauroneo blinked. It took him a good half-minute to process Kieran's semi-coherent ramble. He looked up at his lord and noticed Pelleas wearing a similarly amused expression on his face.

"Ah, um. Sir Kieran the mightily fearless, invincible…knight…commander…" Pelleas began. He wanted to make a good first impression, and he thought it might be best to address the knight by his full title.

"Please, your lordship! Call me Kieran."

"Kieran," the dark sage sighed in relief. "Please, pass word to your queen – and tell her that she has Daein's full appreciation for going through such lengths in order to accommodate us..."

* * *

"What's the matter with you, Lucia dear? Come on! You've got less than an hour to get ready!"

A giggling Calill dragged her unwilling accomplice across the paved streets of Melior. Lucia sighed. She really didn't have time for this, but…

"I've never shown you my secret dressing room, right? This'll be perfect. Hohohohoho!"

_Me and my big mouth, _Lucia grumbled as Calill hauled her into a side entrance and nudged her up the stairs. _If only I hadn't joked about having nothing to wear to such a formal occasion…_

Earlier in the day, Lucia had run into the sage, who had been bearing baked goods for her and Geoffrey. After the end of her meeting with Culainn and the others, she naturally invited her friend inside to chat for a little bit – they hadn't seen each other for so long!

Three pastries, a few stories, and fifteen minutes later, Calill was adamant on helping with the "impossible quest" of "securing her man's heart," despite Lucia's loud protests that she had no intentions of moving onto the next stage yet. She could only sigh as she wondered how everyone could take the first part of her words and completely impose their own readings upon it.

"Calill. it's fine. I've always worn my swordmaster's uniform to these formal occasions…"

"Uniform…work. Banquet…not work. See the difference?" The glare Calill gave her could probably have frozen water as she fumbled with the doorknob. "I swear, one of these days I'll turn you into a shopaholic just like me…"

"I'd rather not trouble you so," the swordmistress sighed. "Though I don't see why you're going to such great lengths to get me into a pretty dress…when you've said often enough that I was already naturally beautiful beyond relief..."

"We'll see." The sage thought about her retort for a few seconds before artfully shoving her friend into the room. "…It's true that you're beautiful, but!"

The swordmistress gasped in surprise as a magically enchanted globe of moonlight suddenly emerged from above her head, bathing the two in its silvery luminescence.

"I am Calill, the champion of fashion!" Calill proclaimed as she pointed one slim finger toward the heavens above. "In the name of beauty, I shall glamorize you! I will right these wrongs created in the name of duty, and triumph over the evil that is your own reluctance to show off your own natural allure!"

The magically amplified moonlight pierced through the glass roof, revealing racks and racks of neatly catalogued clothing. Everything from dresses to skirts to robes to more exotic choices could be seen as Calill gestured grandly. A line of mirrors encircled the end of the chamber as earrings and jewelry gleamed on the black velvet walls.

"I cannot let such a thing stand…especially if it's someone as pretty as you," the sage proudly finished as she pointed a triumphant finger at Lucia. "Now, go on! Take your pick."

"I…" Lucia gaped. She had nothing to say. Slowly, she walked inside, her eyes wide with childlike wonder as she looked around. This collection…probably rivaled Elincia's…

She reached into a nearby rack and pulled out a white gown, carefully running her fingers through to feel the fabric. It was soft and nearly weightless to her touch. Impressed by the quality, she gently returned it to the rack as she inched toward the glittering display of ornaments behind.

"I've a teleport staff in the room, so we'll make sure your entrance is stylish!' Calill beamed. "The jewelry cases are warded, though – try not to touch them until I've disenchanted them."

Lucia immediately snaked her hand back, a sheepish look on her face. She _was_ going to take a look at the sapphires, since they were her favorite gemstones…

"Lucia, Lucia, Lucia…you're still a little girl underneath that cold exterior, you know? There ya go." The sage grinned as she snapped her fingers. "Go on! Dress up to your heart's content!"

* * *

"I see. So, during the brief times you acted as his bodyguard, you started … developing feelings for Prince Reyson?" An hour later, Haar finally puzzled out her story. Tanith was a horrible storyteller, and it seemed that she wasn't apt at expressing herself. It took a lot of prodding and asking on his part to sort her tale straight.

"N-not feelings like _that_," Tanith answered, waving her hands furiously. "It's …it's hard to explain. I just want to see him…and this is a convenient opportunity…"

"Why him, though?" Haar asked in confusion. Beside him, Gilgamesh snickered.

_Silly Master. That stupid question, _it thought as Tanith's pegasus gave it a dirty look. _Might as well ask why Mistress Jill…_

"Something clicked ...within me, when I was first assigned to him." The pegasus knight paused as she placed a hand on her pegasus. Gently stroking its fur, Tanith continued in a small voice. "He's so frail, but he tries so hard to not be a burden for me …he…he…"

The Dragonlord wondered how his wife, or, for that matter, Marcia would react at the sight of her. He had fought alongside Deputy Commander Tanith numerous times. This was the first time he could distinctly recall seeing her showing any sort of emotion other than honor and discipline.

"Reyson's in Gailia, the last time I heard from him. So you're heading the right way. But what do you plan on doing once you find him, though? Bring him back to Begnion? Following him to the ends of the world?"

"I've already planned something. I …" Tanith sighed as she lightly brushed the topic aside. She was evidently unwilling to think about the question – or answer - too hard. "From personal experience, no plan ever survives the battlefield. Though, I suppose I could always cook for him."

Tanith didn't notice, but her pegasus choked on a nearby grass patch as she spoke of cooking. Gilgamesh sneezed. The Deputy Commander's cooking abilities was of legendary notoriety…

Haar, on the other hand, was entirely sympathetic. He knew what it was like to be a lethal chef, and had the honor of experiencing it firsthand. Jill's cooking had grown slightly better over the years – though not by much. He was sure that cooking for Reyson'd be easy, though, since the White Prince pretty much lived on fruit alone…

The sun's fading light reminded him of the situation at hand. It was best if he started to move – if he and Gil pushed themselves a little bit…they might be able to get home tomorrow morning…

"Ah, well...Deputy Commander, I'm sure it'll …work out, when you two meet," the Dragonlord rumbled as he turned to Gilgamesh, who gave him a fierce nod. "Me and Gil here'll be off. So..."

"Safe travels, General Haar."

"You too! Take it easy, and don't worry too much!" Flashing the pegasus knight a reassuring smile, Haar took off into the skies. _How cute. Tanith was actually blushing._ He thought as he dove headfirst into a clump of clouds and quickly disappeared from sight.

* * *

"Keep your eyes sharp tonight, Ibis, Caradoc. The Queen's life may depend on it."

The two knights nodded as Geoffrey turned to leave, his satiny dress cloak waving behind him.

"You can count on us, Commander! As long as I draw breath, none shall pass!" Caradoc raised his sword in salutation, his black armor gleaming dully in the gathering starlight.

The senior Royal Knight was deployed next to the hanging walls, the lowest point of the palace defenses. It was an important place, and he was glad Geoffrey decided to honor him with such a task. Tonight, they were Crimean Royal Knights - nothing more, nothing less.

The torchlight shadows danced brilliantly on th**e **helms that hid their personas. The night breeze brought wisps of chatter, intermingled with laughs and music, to their side. Here and there, fireflies blinked, as if to keep them company on their routine patrols. Though Caradoc missed the banquet, he didn't mind being here at all. There was an elfin grace that could only be found in the Crimean night…

"Sir Caradoc."

"Hm?" The black knight eyed the young woman next to him and smiled a little, noticing her nervousness. Ibis was a new recruit to the Royal Knights. Though she was not particularly skilled, she was extremely tenacious. He had a feeling that she might grow to become a good servant to Her Royal Majesty some day.

"Something was moving beneath the walls, I think. I swore by the Queen's name I saw a white shadow."

The younger knight pointed at the position beneath as she strung her bow. Caradoc tensed.

"Well, then, let me take a look." Torch in hand, the senior knight moved closer to the walls. The quiet clanking of his own footsteps and the slow, steady pounding of his heart were the only things he heard as he looked down.

Nothing. There was nothing unusual out there. Suddenly, there was no sound, no chatter, nothing strange. Even the bugs were deathly silent. Just the moon, the stars, and the silence of the night. The knight sighed in relief.

"Ibis, you worry too much," Caradoc muttered as he sheathed his sword, turning around to address his protégé. "It's probably just the –"

Before he finished his sentence, Ibis collapsed before him, blood flowing from a neat puncture on her breastplate. As her bow fell with a clatter onto the floor, Caradoc fumbled for his sword. So! General Geoffrey was …

_Who…what? _

He was too slow. A flash of pain registered in his mind as he …

_The - !!_

The black knight watched a thin line of blood trickle down his side as suddenly, he found himself on his knees. It was then thathe felt the razor-sharp edge protruding from the center of his ribs. Struggling to rise, the senior Royal Knight tried to turn around …

…Only to see a white shadow rush past. The knight blinked again, but couldn't see anything anymore. The world went dark.

* * *

"Queen Elincia! Have you, ah, seen Lady Lucia by any chance?" Bastian anxiously whispered to the green-haired maiden seated across from him as he distracted himself by stirring his wine.

"No, as a matter of fact…I haven't seen her all day," Elincia whispered back. Making a mental note to forgo shoulder pads the next time she combined armor with ballroom gowns, the queen glanced at the table across from her where Geoffrey was sitting.

She had carefully selected the white armor she wore that night to match the rest of her attire. As the queen of a nation, she should try to look her best, as well. The stylized platemail was light yet durable, and its gilded borders only served to enhance her natural curves, which were hidden by the green dress underneath. With a single-brooched velvet cloak on her shoulders and Amiti by her side, she was veritably seraphic.

The silver knight met her gaze with an even response of his own, his expression as grim as ever. She wondered if he had recovered from the initial encounter in the morning. She wondered if she had recovered from the affair herself.

"Ah, well. On the Queen's business, no doubt," the wind sage muttered in disappointment as he started to pour himself some more wine. He had cajoled, demanded, bribed, and finally blackmailed Culainn into taking his particular seat so he could be seated directly in front of the swordmistress. And of course, she didn't show up!

Meanwhile, a few seats down, Culainn snickered back at the count. _Fair's fair_, the lancer thought as he eyed his companions – a lovely pair of beauties from Daein. As Culainn watched the women guarding Pelleas with a tangible zeal, Bastian sighed. With women around, there was no way the lance-lord would be productive. If only he could be there, instead… at least he'd be able to get some useful information out of the emissary…

The banquet had gone on for at least an hour, judging from the number of empty dishes lying around. Though the cooks overdid themselves with the fine dishes prepared that night, he had no appetite. Where was she?

_Bastian, you lovestruck clown._ Silently, he admonished himself. _Too possessive, demanding, and restrictive, and you stifle the seedlings of true love…_

Try as he might, though, he couldn't help but to feel disappointment. After so long, Lucia had finally started to return some of his affections. Especially…after that morning. They were so close…so close. He could smell her scent; he could hear the faint flutterings of her heart…

Yet Lucia was not here. Could she be in danger? An alarming thought appeared. Or, worse, was it possible that she was angry at him for their differing viewpoints on helping her brother earlier?

No, that couldn't be. Lucia would never do such a childish thing – and besides, it wasn't even a real argument that they'dhad earlier...

The sage wondered if perhaps, he shouldn't have been so blithely sarcastic with his approach. Emotions were a terrible thing to be playing with. Geoffrey had clearly hurt Elincia with his words. The knight was at fault here, so he must do everything in his power to atone for his mistake! After all, wounds caused by loved ones were the hardest to recover from! He should know! He did it often enough –

"My queen, sorry to keep you waiting."

The sage's heart jumped at the sound of the voice as Lucia's form, still misty from a teleportation spell, started to solidify next to her usual place beside Elincia. He wondered where she got her hands on the teleportation staff…

"Gentlemen. Good evening." Lucia smiled as she curtseyed. The sage's jaw dropped. He had never seen Lucia dressed like that. Provocative wasn't the right term to use, but it definitely wasn't something out of her usual wardrobe.

She wore a backless, short dress the color of the midnight sky. A pair of strappy, open-toed heels accentuated the pale beauty of her skin as Laevateinn hung easily at her hip. Her stance, usually so rigid and deferential, had now a sensuality of its own. The way she stood – brimming with such confidence… it was as if she was daring someone to make a move toward her queen – or her.

Suddenly, Bastian felt a strange wetness on his leg. With a startled curse, he realized that he had overfilled his cup.

"Out of all the ..." He sighed in annoyance, his embarrassment amplified by a wolfish whistle coming from Culainn's side. By now, the rest of the Crimean court had noticed her entrance, too, and judging from the way a few of them were staring, he could tell that they were more or less amazed like he was.

"Count. Calill talked me into it." Sitting down, Lucia blushed. "You have her to thank if you like how I look tonight."

Even in that bewitching outfit, she was still the same Lucia. Somehow, he found her inane sense of modesty to be even more attractive than the little black thing she had on. Bastian sipped his wine as he tried to not look too interested.

_Steady, old dog. Steady. Give her room to breathe – teleporting is dizzying work. None of your poetry, now…_

"She walks in beauty, like the night; of cloudless climes and starry skies. And all that's best of dark and light, meet in her aspect and her eyes …" A split second later, he gave up. Launching into verse was more or less his special ability. The sage suspected that had he tried to suppress the urge to praise her through poetry and wordplay, he'd have blown a vein.

"Shouldn't that be directed to Queen Elincia, Count Bastian?" Lucia exchanged a knowing smile with the queen as she picked up her fork. Something in her eyes, though, told him that she liked his attention. The thought made his heart race faster as suddenly, the evening appeared to be that much more enjoyable.

"Of course, of course! Tra ha ha…if Her Majesty will allow her servant to fetch a quick change of clothing, I shall return with more verse anew." Bastian stood up elegantly as Elincia nodded, hiding a smile of her own. His pants were ruined, but an article of clothing for a night's gaze near beauty incarnate – he considered that to be a fair trade as well.

He was definitely looking forward to the dance that was coming up in a couple of hours.

* * *

Elsewhere, far away from the feasting and the laughter, a lone shadow made its move. With a whoosh, a grappling hook flew through the air. It clasped the parapets tightly as the assassin anxiously pulled, making sure it would support his weight.

Qieru's wards were harder than he had anticipated … there were several occasions where he thought he would have triggered an alarm for sure. In the end, though, nearly two decades of experience won over, and the Fireman now found himself with easy access to the Crimean Palace.

He hoped he was not too late … given what he knew about her, she was probably doing this out of pure, unbridled spite. He couldn't blame her, either. A part of that was his fault in the first place.

Like a tiger stalking its prey, Volke soundlessly moved across the battlements. He knew his way around the palace…if he recalled correctly, there should have been a pair of guards right around…this section of the wall.

Pitch-black eyes darting about warily, scanning his surroundings for any threats, the assassin lightly leapt from stone to stone. He sensed a few others nearby. Some were far, some were close, and some were still closer. His usual caution, however, he threw to the winds. Time was against him. If he had any hopes of catching her…he must do so quickly.

Cloaking himself in the shadows, Volke cautiously peered over the corner. He saw a familiar black-armored figure slumping over the castle walls, as if scanning the area below for threats. _Caradoc._, e thought. _This could get tricky. _

Sir Caradoc, an experienced Royal Knight. He had served the Crimean House for no less than thirty-six years. The man was honest, but quite stubborn. The assassin knew of him. Perhaps he could parley, and avoid a conflict…

The sickeningly sweet scent of blood slowly wafted into his nose. His pulse quickened. In an instant, he was beside the knight. A second of inspection passed before the assassin shook his head. The Royal Knight was dead. Expertly disarmed with a slice to the wrist, and slain with a quick stab to the heart.

Without even stopping to check the younger woman lying next to him, the assassin's mind raced. As much as he hated doing it, he had to move them out of the way. If they were discovered, it would make his mission nearly impossible. He didn't have time to fight through the entire palace.

Danger surrounded the Crimean court. There were maybe a handful of people he knew in Crimea who could stand up to his old acquaintance, he himself included. The Delbray siblings, Culainn, and the Master of the Isle all stood a good chance, but at a banquet like this, he wasn't sure if they'd come armed. Gritting his teeth, Volke picked up the limp body of the black-armored knight and looked around. Surely, there was somewhere he could move it –

"Hold it right there."

He froze. The knight's corpse fell with a crash to the floor. In an instant, his daggers appeared in his hands as the assassin pivoted around to find a familiar rogue standing behind him.

"You've improved," the assassin quipped simply. If at all possible, he didn't want to fight Elincia's servants.

"Shut up. So it was you? I…I couldn't believe it." Her voice full of bitterness, Heather pointed her own weapon at him. Her blue cloak unfurled itself angrily in the evening air as she continued. "The thief's guild, and now, these knights…Volke, why? How could you?"

"Thief's guild?" Volke asked in confusion. He wondered if he should make a move now …he was losing time, damn it.

"Don't you play dumb with me!" The rogue snarled as she jabbed forward with her knife. After coming to trust the assassin as a dependable source, she felt betrayed. She had suspected that Volke was responsible for the slaughter she witnessed at Daein. Now, she was faced with irrefutable proof – the bodies of the Royal Knights below told her that much...

" I'm not playing dumb. Whatever it is, I didn't do it," Volke whispered as he parried her strike, taking a quick pair of steps back. Heather's long dagger met his own stilettos with a loud clang.

"And the bodies there, beside you, you didn't do that as well?" The rogue pulled back as she breathed heavily, tears flowing down her shapely face. She punched forward in fury. "How could you!"

The assassin sighed. He had a feeling that whatever it was, it was all a huge misunderstanding. With Heather coming at him in such a berserked state, though, he could only inch backwards. All the while, anxiety gnawed at him. Every moment he spent futilely fighting Heather was another moment lost to him…

Dodging and blocking her wasn't a problem – in her current state, her movements were barely coordinated. However, she was fighting so close to him that there was zero chance of him escaping. Given an urgent time like this, he was going to have to hurt her…

_Sorry,_ the assassin whispered to no one in particular as he stumbled. Noticing the opening, Heather's eyes narrowed. Quickly taking the chance, she slammed into his side. With a rapid strike, she knocked a stiletto from his hand. The rogue paused for an instant before bringing down her weapon arm with a jerky movement.

_Had I been fighting seriously, such reluctance to kill would have cost the rogue her life, t_he assassin thought as he expertly twisted out of the way, dodging the lethal blow. _Not all were meant to be assassins._

He heard her gasp in shock as too late, she realized what had happened. His weaponless hand shot out, grabbing her outstretched arm and forcing her onto the ground. Dropping his other stiletto, Volke hid a smirk as he lunged at the exposed nerve cluster on her naked neck.

_Juhazan. The Soft Breaking Strike. _

With a strangled gasp, the rogue fell over backwards as she passed out.

_Unfortunate,_ the assassin mused as he picked up his daggers and quickly ran down the hallway. He knew he was only a few rooms away from the Great Hall –

"Assassin! There's an assassin about!" A chorus of voices reached his ears as he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. He cursed. The Crimean Royal Knights were indeed more vigilant than he had given them credit for. Scanning around desperately, he looked for somewhere to hide.

There.

Scrambling to get into position, he quickly weaseled himself below it. His act was not a moment too soon – a trio of Royal Knights, headed by Bedivere, hurriedly stepped into the chamber, weapons drawn and at the ready.

"Sir Bedivere. No signs of him around here," a royal knight cried as she ran forward.

"Raise the alarm. I sense something terrible's going to happen.**"** Bedivere growled. "Hurry. Lives are at stake here."

The heavy footsteps quickly disappeared as the knights went past him. Volke gave an inaudible sigh as he stood up, throwing down the wood crate that he was hiding beneath. He rushed forward, pushing himself to the furthest of his limits. It didn't matter if he was ignoring protocol. Bastian could cut his pay, fire him, whatever…this job was deeply personal.

* * *

"Assassin! Assassin!"

The cry pierced through the joy and laughter inside the Great Hall. Lucia suddenly tensed. Her hand habitually went to her blade as she looked around alertly.

Suddenly, without interruption, a knife flew into the chandelier, bringing it crashing down to the floor beneath. Another knife quickly followed suit, until soon, the entire room was plunged into a smothering darkness.

Tables were overturned amid the sounds of screaming as the crowd panicked. Tangible fear was in the room as the noble lords and ladies fought to escape from what must be a deathly horrifying trap. Even the guards panicked as they hefted their weapons uselessly, unsure of what to make of the situation. The only light in the room was Culainn's magical lance, faintly pulsing with an eerie red glow.

In a flash, Laevateinn was in its mistress's hands as its owner shouted. Robbed of physical sight, the swordmistress depended on her other senses as she protectively moved toward Elincia. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she breathed deeply, becoming one with the blade.

A low hiss was the only thing that alerted her to a wayward dirk as it flew in her general direction. Raising her long blade, the swordmistress easily deflected it to the ground. She saw the crimson lance twirl and knew that Culainn must be fighting across the room.

"Brother! To me, to the queen!" Knocking over the laden table, she pushed Elincia down as she deflected another dart, straining to concentrate amidst the chaos within Palace Melior. She didn't know where her brother or Bastian was, but she desperately prayed that they were alright.

* * *

From the moment the alarm was sounded, Elincia felt worthless as Queen. While her father or Uncle Renning would have easily stood up to the threat, she could only whimper and hide behind Lucia.

_Weakling…such a weakling…_she scolded herself. But she knew she'd only be a burden if she tried to fight. Besides, she was paralyzed by fear – this opponent was not someone she could see, and that terrified her.

Biting back tears, the young queen curled up behind the table, too fearful to move. She could only hear the sounds of blades on blades as her knights, Culainn, and Lucia fought on her behalf.

Suddenly, she heard Lucia gasp in pain. Then, she heard a dull thud. Pitifully, she reached for Lucia's hand – maybe she could help her.

"Stay back…" she heard Lucia whisper, hiding the strain in her voice. "Th-this…is nothing."

Elincia's heart constricted as she realized that every moment of her safety was paid for with the life of her loyal subjects. As her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she could make out a looming shape before her. She drew back from it, deathly afraid.

"Elincia," a familiar voice whispered. "Stay beside me. I will protect you. Always."

She could hear the sound of her own heart, pounding loudly as Geoffrey leaned over her. Wordlessly, she slid into the silver knight's embrace.

"I will protect you," the knight repeated as he slowly inched forward, using his body as a shield. Right then, she knew that everything was going to be fine. This was his way of showing his love for her – she knew that now. Sacrificing…always sacrificing on her behalf…

She couldn't see the knight's eyes, but she could feel his loving gaze. Nestled against his broad shoulders, she felt so safe. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks as she sniffed, unable to maintain her composure.

_Geoffrey…

* * *

_

Author's notes: Yay, the plot's moving~

Made Lucia a little more tsundere than she should be, though she wouldn't normally flip between hot and cold. This point is heavily evident within her Japanese script. This chapter has been posted with the Kender seal of quality control. It is also 1:50 AM. But! Do expect a music post in my LJ soon, along with some analysis and ramble.

Music isn't working, unfortunately. I'll see about getting the posts up as soon as I can find a reliable uploader.

As always, thank you for reading. There are a couple of very obvious references in here that were integrated within the story. I think it's pretty easy to see where I drew some of Volke's characterization from. ;)


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